Holding On and Letting Go
by darylsdiva1
Summary: AU Season 4: As a health crisis for one of the original Atlanta survivors sends Daryl and Carol into danger on a mission of mercy, the addition of the Woodbury refugees to the Prison group forces them to re-examine their special connection. Very Caryl, some fluff, flashbacks to early days at the prison, and some sweet smut in later chapters for those who have been asking for it!
1. Chapter 1: Shades of Grey

_1. Shades of Grey_

_ "Glenn!"_ Daryl yelled, his temper at a boil. If that little shit thought he could get out of guard duty because he was nursing a hangover he had another thing coming. He rounded the corner of the cell block and saw Carol coming from the cell Maggie and the boy shared, her face troubled.

"He in there?" Daryl snarled, starting to push past her.

"Daryl, stop!" Carol said, grabbing his arm as he tried to enter the cell. As her small callused hand closed over his bicep he felt a frisson of some sharp awareness pass through him and it slammed him to a halt. His head slowly turned to look down at her hand and then up to meet her eyes, his look half between surprise and a warning. Instead of immediately releasing him, he saw real worry mar her crystal blue gaze. He tilted his head at her.

Carol turned her head to look back into the room and as Daryl followed her sight line he saw that Hershel was seated on the lower bunk talking softly to Glenn. Maggie crouched beside him, her hand on Glenn's sweaty pale forehead.

"Hershel thinks it's his appendix." Carol said in a low voice. He felt her hand tremble against his arm and felt a sickening bubble of guilt roil his gut. He reached his right hand up to cover hers and she took a quick breath. Glenn was like a brother to them both. When Maggie had announced yesterday that she was pregnant with their first child, the young man's celebrations last night had gotten a bit exuberant, and when he hadn't shown up for his shift on watch this afternoon Daryl had come looking for him.

"What do you need?" Daryl asked her, knowing that they were dangerously short on most types of supplies and equipment. Caring for the larger group including the refugees from Woodbury had put a severe strain on all of their resources, from water, food and housing to issues like sanitation and medical care.

Carol released his arm, but instead of letting her pull her hand away, he shifted his fingers around her palm so he was holding it tightly and then laced his fingers through hers in what he hoped was a comforting way. He hadn't held hands like this with anyone since he was 8; since his mother had died.

"Everything," Carol said ruefully, her worry for Glenn letting her ignore the anomaly of his hand grasping hers, feeling only the comfort of another human being's touch.

"I'll go on a run—just give me the list." Daryl said, relieved to have some task, some practical action to accomplish instead of waiting, worrying.

"No." Carol said, looking in at Hershel's face—he seemed to have aged another ten years since this morning—his eyes red rimmed, his face white bordered with purplish red; he looked bruised, beaten down by this newest hell. "I'm going with you."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

To bring back the oxygen tanks, the surgical equipment, they had to take a vehicle big enough to hold them, so the chopper was out. Daryl loaded supplies and weapons into the back of the light green Hyundai that had served them so well since Shane had found it on the highway near the Green farm what seemed like a lifetime ago.

While supervising the cleaning and refitting of the office spaces in the prison for habitation, Maggie had come across a tri-county telephone directory. They had been using the yellow pages in it as a sort of shopping guide for the scavenging parties who went out on regular runs.

Michonne and three of the new people, Karen, Tyreese and Sasha were on the road now, checking out a town about three hours away where a hunting supply megastore had been located. In all likelihood it had been stripped clean of weapons, but there was a chance that some of the heavier equipment, including bullet making molds and other munitions manufacturing machinery might still be there. They had taken one of the Army trucks left during the Governor's raid.

Daryl and Carol were headed in the opposite direction, south, to a town they hadn't hit before, Senoia, where there were several private medical practices and two Vet clinics in addition to a small hospital listed. With the other party already out there they normally wouldn't have sent out a second team. Leaving the prison with fewer defenders was never in the plans, but the emergency made it necessary. Both Beth and Maggie had wanted to come, but Daryl had privately felt he had enough to worry about with Carol along and didn't want to be responsible for the lives of one or both of Hershel's girls.

It wasn't that he didn't think they could handle themselves—all of the women had proven time and time again how capable they were at protecting themselves and defending the others—but he knew his attention would be focused on one of them more than the others; the one he didn't want _ever_ leaving the safety of the prison walls and fortifications if he could help it, but the one who knew best what they needed to save Glenn's life.

"I know you'll get back as soon as you can," Hershel said quietly to Carol as they stood at the front of the car. "I believe it's chronic rather than acute which gives you a window-but know this, if it bursts before you return his chances of survival drop drastically."

Carol shook her head, her mouth set in a firm line, turned down at the edges into a determined frown. Infection, sepsis, was one of the biggest problems now that they had exhausted the local supply of antibiotics. People kept getting injured—accidents with weapons, childbirth complications, and even diseases like pneumonia—all of them were curable with the modern magical drugs first found in good old moldy bread. They were experimenting with synthesizing a crude form of penicillin, but it was inexact chemistry without the proper tools and if one thing in the multiple step process was wrong, it could kill instead of cure.

"How long do we have?"

"Best guess is 72 hours at the outside." Hershel said, and then his look briefly turned grim as he looked at someone approaching from behind her and then forcefully brightened, bucking up to one of determined optimism. Carol turned and saw Beth approaching, followed by Rick, holding Judith in his arms.

"How is he?" Carol asked. She'd looked in on Glenn as she carried her things from the cellblock out to the yard and he'd been sleeping fitfully, Maggie had been curled up beside him, quietly stroking his forehead with a cool cloth. If he'd have been awake he would've been smiling to have the woman he adored so close.

"Maggie's sitting with him. Fever's tapered off a little; he's stable." Beth said, her usual sunny demeanor subdued with worry. Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, met Carol's and she rushed into the older woman's outstretched arms and they embraced.

Daryl came around the side of the car and saw the scene. Chewing on his lower lip, grimacing, he squinted at them. All of this emotion overwhelmed him, made him antsy, nervous as hell.

"You done huggin' it out? Need to get on the road." he said gruffly, and Beth pulled away from Carol, who looked at him reproachfully. Then she saw Daryl lift his right thumb to his mouth and start to gnaw on the nail, his eyes looking anywhere but at the women and she realized how worried he was as well. Giving one last squeeze to her young friend and roommate, Carol moved to embrace Hershel.

Rick in turn came to stand in front of Daryl, balancing his baby in his left arm and extending his right hand. Daryl stared down at it and then lowered his hand from his mouth to grasp it.

"Thank you." Rick said simply and Daryl's didn't shake his friend's hand so much as infuse the grip with quiet strength, lending all he had to the man who had already lost so much.

"S'what we do." Daryl said, repeating what he'd said to Rick about caring for Judith all those months ago. He looked at the baby girl, plump, bright, happy and a small smile warmed his features and without much forethought he leaned down and brushed a kiss onto her sweet-smelling head. Embarrassed, he released Rick's hand and stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at the ground.

"Does seem like I'm always saving his sorry ass though, don't it?" Daryl groused, squinting up at his friend and the two men shared a grin, thinking of Atlanta, of Woodbury, how they'd worked together to rescue Glenn.

Carol was there then, grabbing Rick up into a fierce hug, kissing his scratchy bearded cheek and then taking one of Judith's pudgy little hands in hers she leaned down and kissed it as well.

"Take care of each other." Rick said to them both, nodding, "Come back safe."

Hershel and Beth, now holding Judith, stood there and watched the green car pass through the barrier gate as Rick opened it. Carol waved one last time and then they were out on the road, heading south.

Turning back around to face the front, Carol wiped the tears from her face and closed her eyes, leaning her head back on the head rest.

"You gonna sleep?" Daryl asked.

"Why? Are we talking now?" Carol asked, having already resigned herself to a long quiet trip with the taciturn man. They'd had an argument a few days ago over an incident with Tyreese and had been skirting a wide berth around each other since then.

Even at the best of times Daryl tended to only speak when he was questioned or if he had an important, often lifesaving remark to make. Idle chit chat was not in his wheel house and any more serious topic, says his feelings about the woman sitting next to him or why he'd beaten a man to a bloody pulp for trying to talk to her, was just as unlikely.

"Check out the bag in front of yer feet." he said, with a hint of a grin. Carol frowned, leaning forward and found an old paper grocery sack, repaired with duct tape to reinforce its loose integrity, sitting there.

"You brought snacks?" she asked quizzically. They'd brought a bare minimum of survival rations, stored in a cooler in the back.

"Just open it." he said patiently. Sighing, Carol snagged the bag and it made a funny clack clank sound, so she unfolded the top and reached inside. It was filled with all sorts of CDs. The first one she pulled out was an older Garth Brooks greatest hits collection. She made a little sound of amused surprise, opened the jewel case and popped the disk into the stereo in the dash console. The sound of country guitars, violins and Brook's gravelly mellow voice filled the car. She adjusted the volume so it was background level and they continued to talk.

"God, I miss listening to recorded music..." Carol said. It just wasn't practical to use their limited power to run a CD or record player, and the noise also tended to attract walkers. The only time most of them got to listen was when they were in a vehicle that had a stereo system.

"Michonne took most a' the books on tape, but here's a coupla them in there too." Daryl told her, keeping his eyes on the road, but every once and awhile stealing a glance over at her. She dug around in the bag and pulled out _50 Shades of Grey_ and blushed to the roots of her short salt and pepper hair.

"What?" he asked, "no good?" he sounded so disappointed that she sighed and smiled.

"You've never heard of this book?" she asked him, wondering if he was winding her up.

"Don't go in much for chick lit." he drawled, "Have to admit it's got an interesting cover..." she looked at the vaguely S&M black and white photo and had to agree.

"Let's see what else we have, shall we?" she stuck the lady porn CD down between her seat and the center console and perused the rest of the bag.

"Mighta seen some Skynyrd in there..." he said hopefully—the southern rock group was one of his favorites. She raised it triumphantly and then paused in her sorting and looked over at him.

"Skynyrd next!" she laughed and then her voice softened, "This was a thoughtful thing to do, Daryl" she told him, "Thank you." Daryl nodded, hoping he'd been forgiven, at least a little, and reached over to turn up the volume a little so they could listen to the words and music and they settled into a companionable silence.

She could almost forget the urgent reason for the journey and imagine that they were heading out on a vacation road trip to some quiet country inn...

The third song was Brooks' bar anthem, "I Got Friends in Low Places," and she amused him by not only knowing all of the words, but singing along lustily and loudly. Then she was the one surprised as he joined her on the choruses; he actually seemed to be enjoying himself in a way she had seldom seen, just letting loose as they sped down the highway.

She was watching him, grinning at his attempt to sing more loudly than her, when he suddenly hit the brakes as they came around a curve and then punched the off button hard cutting off the music. She snapped her head up and gasped, putting her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.

They were at the edge of a massive herd.

Daryl started to sweat. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. Taking the main highway was the shortest route to the town, but he knew that they risked running in to greater groups of walkers as well. For whatever reason, the things had been congregating in larger and larger numbers, almost as if they had some sort of hive mentality in big groups. The build ups at the prison fences were causing bigger and bigger headaches and the possibility of their mass actually being able to push over and through the wire enclosure was very real.

"What do we do?" Carol whispered. Daryl let the vehicle roll to a full stop and then eased it into reverse, doing his best to avoid attracting the herd's attention. That many walkers could overturn the car and then they'd be dead as surely as if they tried wading out into them. He looked behind them and swore.

"_Shit!_ Hang on, this ain't gonna be pretty." He bit out. The car's rear windows splashed red and black as he plowed into the walkers who had already started surrounding the vehicle. Gunning the engine he pushed it-Carol looked at the speedometer-he hit 30, 35, 40, 45 in reverse-bodies flying, the Hyundai rolling over them like speed bumps, crushing skulls and bones under the wheels. Something heavy hit under the passenger side, jerking the car sideways and Carol saw stars as her shoulder and head slammed against the side window, stunning her.

Daryl somehow kept control of the car and did a 180, heading back the way they'd come at over 60 mph until he saw a turn off onto a two lane dirt road he remembered seeing as they'd passed it earlier. He looked up in the rear view mirror and then to the parking back up camera and saw only a few walkers on the road, far behind them, so he took the turn off and went about a mile deeper into the Georgia back woods. He looked over at Carol to share a sigh of relief, but she was slumped to the side, her head resting on the window, her arms loose at her sides. He braked too quickly and the car jerked to a stop, making her loll forward, restrained by her shoulder harness, and then flop back against the seat.

"Oh shit-no..._no_!" Daryl said fearfully and struggled with his seat belt release, panicked. He was about to pull out his buck knife and just cut the damn thing free when it gave way and he slid across the seat, gently putting his right hand on her upper chest and taking her wrist between the fingers of his left-breathing, pulse-yes, both! thank you Jesus. Bending over her he looked at her head, his fingers moving carefully along her skull and swore again when he felt a rapidly forming lump on her right forehead.

"Carol?" he said quietly, moving his hands over her face and neck, worried about whiplash or some other neck injury. When she didn't respond, he leaned close, his mouth almost touching her temple and whispered, "_Don't do this to me, sweetheart..."_ and then she stirred, "Carol?" he asked again and this time she made a small moaning noise and tried to lift her left hand to her head, but it was blocked by his big body looming over hers. "Just stay still now," he soothed.

"What—what's...?" she asked, slitting open her eyes. The world seemed all spinney and out of focus. She looked out the front window and saw a solitary walker making its way across the road about 10 feet in front of them, shambling, its shoulders canted at a crazy angle, its head lolling off the lower shoulder, long, blackened red-blonde hair trailing down the side and back over the faded floral patterned blood splattered dress it wore.

"Wha—walkers!" she cried, panicking, suddenly thinking they were back in the middle of the herd and struggling against him, needing to run, get away, to not end up like...

"Carol! _Stop_—we're fine—you just got your melon scrambled a little, settle down!" Daryl put his hands on her shoulders, gently restraining her. She looked into his blue eyes and saw his concern, his sincerity and subsided, leaning back against the seat.

"Need flashlight—check my pupils..." she muttered, reaching up with her right hand, finding the goose egg forming on her forehead. "Could be concussion—oh _shit_!" and she hit the window button just barely in time to lean her head out and throw up, coughing pathetically with the force of it, the vomit splattering all down the outside of the car door. "Well, _that _sucked..." she muttered, returning to her position facing front.

He took the rag out of his back pocket and carefully wiped the residue of her sick off of her mouth and chin and then took the water bottle out of the cup holder and opened it, helping her hold it steady to take a swallow, which she then leaned back and spit out the window, rinsing the taste out of her mouth as best she could and then closing the window. She moaned again with the effort, her head feeling about 10 times its normal size.

He got the flash light out and checked her pupils—neither was blown, but the right one was slow to dilate and recover which, along with the nausea, worried him.

"You got us out of there." she praised him, "Thank you." she looked around, "How far off course are we?"

"Need to check a map, but we backtracked, 10 maybe 12 miles, and then east another couple."

"Can we still make it to Senoia tonight?"

"Think so, but I'd rather get there in the daylight, know what we're dealin' with that way." Arriving in the dark meant any of the town's residents, living or dead would hear them coming long before they could see them and thus have the advantage.

"So now what?" Carol asked, sounding defeated.

"We either find someplace to hole up or we pull off the road and hunker down in here for the night." He looked speculatively at the rapidly setting sun. "Only seen that one walker since we've been parked here, and the herd was headin' the other way-what's say we venture up the road a little ways and see what we can see in the way of shelter?" she started to nod in agreement, but gave a little cry when that made her head throb in agony.

"You gonna hurl again?" he asked, pushing the button zipping her window back down.

"No." she said indignantly, glaring at him, but the sharp movements of her head in his direction made the spinnies happen again and next thing she knew, she was losing the last of what had actually been a decent lunch for once. "Next time it's _your_ turn for the pukey concussion, 'kay?" she said as she subsided back into her seat, cold beads of sweat on her forehead.

"Next time." Daryl agreed, placating her, helping her with the water again and then he rolled up her window and restarted the car so they could set off down the dirt road. The walker she'd spotted earlier had moved off of and was heading south, towards the herd, towards the town they were trying to get to. It was not a promising start.


	2. Chapter 2: The End of the Beginning

**This one's short but sweet! Sets us up for a fluffy flashback in the next chapter...**

_2. The End of the Beginning_

"There—what about that one?" Carol asked, pointing at a foursquare cement block farm house surrounded by a black wrought iron fence, "It looks like it could stand up against anything." No walkers were visible in the yard as far as she could see and it was set back a ways from the road in a grove of pines. Daryl slowed the car to a crawl and pulled into the long driveway.

"No way of knowing who...or what might be in there already..." he said, staring at the house, chewing on his lower lip.

"It looks deserted enough." she protested. The front screen door, half off of its hinges, flapped in the evening breeze listlessly. Debris littered the lawn, mostly trash that looked like it had blown in, a few downed limbs.

"That's the way I'd keep it—people think it's already been picked clean, pass it by then." Daryl said, squinting at the place. He didn't like it—too many big windows on both floors to provide easy egress. And then Carol spotted the entrance to a mounded tornado shelter in the side yard, its door wide open, and pointed at it.

"How about that? More defensible, right?" she asked. Odds were it had been stripped clean of any supplies, but if they could secure the door...

"What'll we do with the car? Can't leave it out in the open, that's just like askin' for it to be stolen." he griped. She scanned the property, spotting a large pole barn.

"Hide it in there."

"A barn? With our luck..." he began, but stopped himself—don't go there—and glanced quickly at her in apology. Her mouth was trembling, but she held it together.

"If this is really a concussion, you're going to have to figure out how to wake me every hour or so, all night long or I could slip into a coma... And that's just the beginning of our shit storm. I'm not going to be much good to you in a fight either—you're going to be exhausted and still have to drive there—I probably won't be able to even spell you in the driving—load all of the supplies after searching through the whole town for them, and then get back to the prison as soon as humanly possible to give Hershel a _chance_ to save Glenn." Carol laid out the whole of her bad news in one fell swoop. "And that's if the town _isn't _overrun by walkers or some living lunatics..."

"You done, Debbie Downer?" he asked dryly, smiling at her.

"Tell me _what_ the fuck in that whole shitty scenario you have to _smile_ about!" she asked him sternly, sounding like a prissy school marm with a dirty mouth.

They really _were_ sorta up shit creek here, Daryl thought, no paddles in sight, but he was a little shocked at her cussin '—that wasn't like her.

It was also _hot._

"Thinkin' a ways to keep you_ awake_." he said, with that smile still haunting his mouth.

_"Tease."_ she muttered under her breath before she could stop herself and then looked out the side window, ignoring him.

"_What'd_ you just say?" he asked her incredulously, and she could feel her car seat push down as he turned back towards her and leaned his right hand on it, perilously close to her thigh. Angry now, perhaps not thinking as clearly as usual, her editing process fritzed out by the head injury, she turned back to him and grasped his hand in hers and dragged it up on to her thigh.

"I said you're a _tease_." she challenged, her eyes huge, glittering and angry. And then before he could protest or pull away, she swiftly leaned up and into his space, grabbed his face and kissed him hard, her mouth soft and warm, and then just as swiftly she released him, putting her hand over her mouth.

"I need to brush my teeth..." she told him, her eyes not quite looking in focus.

Daryl blinked rapidly, his senses overwhelmed—his hand was still on her firm thigh, he could smell the sweet floral shampoo she used; he heard a roaring in his ears like the ocean, his mouth tingling pleasantly from the contact of her lips with his...

"I puked. I need to brush my teeth so I can kiss you more...better." she told him matter of factly, if ungrammatically and then she looked at him assessingly. "And maybe do_ other_ stuff..."

How had they gone from their first kiss to _that_ in just under 30 seconds? He wondered how _out _of it she really was.

"Let me look at your eyes." he demanded, lifting his hand from her leg and taking her chin in his hand and peering close. Holding up three fingers he asked her, "How many fingers?"

"Three." she pouted and added, "Put 'em in your mouth." and he frowned at her. "Makes me crazy when you eat with your fingers and then lick 'em clean...I forget to breathe..." she sighed, leaning into his hand and meeting his eyes with a look of such longing that it made his heart hurt.

His lips still tingled from the kiss she'd stolen... Tentatively he leaned closer but she put her fingers over his mouth, shaking her head just slightly no, "Puked" she reminded him softly.

"Don't care." he said softly, harshly, and closed his fingers around her wrist, dragging her hand down and his lips touched hers, feather light, several times, small delicate kisses full of tenderness. Then her tongue swept out over his full lower lip, sucking it inside her mouth as she deepened the kiss, no longer tentative, groaning, taking control, her tongue pushing inside his opened mouth to find his, her hand finding the back of his head to hold him to her.

She felt his moustache, his beard rasping against her face as he followed her lead and plundered her mouth like some backwoods pirate and she moaned with desire. Breathing heavily she pulled her mouth from his and looked into his eyes, passion darkened now to midnight blue.

"If you make love like you kiss I'm in _big _trouble..." she told him, resting her forehead on his, knowing something...some barrier that had been between them from the beginning was gone, done, ended.


	3. Chapter 3: Is anybody listening?

_**I wish we could've seen more of the bonding that took place on the road between S2 & S3 that made them such a tight knit combat unit that could take over the Prison and also have the comfort level with each other to tease Glenn and Maggie about their watch tower love shack! It was nice to be able to include Lori and T-Dog here in a moment from before things went to hell. **_

_3. Is anybody listening?_

"What do you think Daryl would be like?" Lori asked.

"Excuse me?" Carol replied, not sure she'd heard correctly.

"In bed." Lori said, groaning slightly as she shifted her position on the lower bunk. They'd shared a cell since coming to the prison a week ago; since the breakdown of the group's only marriage, under the weight of the baby, under the weight of Shane...

From the upper bunk came only stunned silence.

"I mean, he's rough around the edges, sure," Lori continued, "and you'd have to get him to take a long soak to peel away all those layers of grit from the road, but god, he _moves_ like a panther..."

"I cannot believe that this is the topic of discussion for the night." Carol said dryly. Lori had trouble sleeping most nights. In her 9th month she was not only uncomfortable physically, but deeply sad, missing her husband's presence in the night. So she and Carol talked, softly, about their lives before the Turn and after. Lori was the only person she'd ever told every detail of Ed's true debasement of her.

Living together in such tight quarters it was inevitable that Lori would see her scars, the places on her belly and legs where her husband had put out his cigarettes on her helpless body, the way her left leg was crooked from the compound fracture where he had kicked and stomped her to the floor to keep her from taking baby Sophia and fleeing.

In turn Lori had unburdened herself about her time with Shane, her conflicted feelings, her love for both men, her longing to make things right with Rick.

Tonight both he and Daryl were on watch in the guard tower at the front of the prison. Knowing neither man could overhear them, they'd been discussing the way that Rick had come to rely on Daryl since they'd been on the road, how he'd taken Shane's place as both friend and support in these last hard months. Lori's last question though, had come out of the blue.

"You thinking of giving up on Rick, then?" Carol teased, knowing that her friend was still deeply in love with the man who worked so hard not to show his feelings, worked so hard to keep them all alive.

"No silly, I mean for _you_." Lori laughed softly. Carol blushed, her little intake of breath a sure sign of her feelings on the subject. "I saw you, you know—we all did."

"Saw me?"

"The two of you—on the bus by the gate, that first night," Lori said smugly.

"What do you think you saw?" Carol said after some hesitation. That night had been special to her; she'd gotten quite brave in what she'd said to Daryl, pushing the envelope of their friendship.

"He had his hands on you." Lori sighed, smiling and pushing up on the underside of Carol's mattress, "Come down, I wanna see how red your face is." Carol lay there, pressing her cool hands to her hot cheeks, knowing she'd get no rest until Lori was talked out enough to fall asleep.

With a long suffering sigh she climbed down off of the bunk. Lori clicked on her small flashlight and played it over Carol's face, giggling like a teenager. Carol squinted against the light and grimaced, but smiled, happy to see Lori having so much fun.

"Scoot over." Carol said, moving to join her friend on the bed. The women lay side by side, Lori's back to the wall, one of the few comfortable positions she'd found for her big belly, and Carol on her left side facing her, her slight frame not taking up much space.

"So?" Lori prompted.

"Well, you know he won't eat unless I bring him something..." Carol began, and Lori knew that was in part because, like Rick, he wanted her...her baby... to have his share. She felt tears prick her eyes at how much they had all protected and nurtured her over the last 7 months.

"So you took him some dinner—fricassee of owl, as I recall? Stewed with dandelion greens and cat tail tubers?" Lori sounded like a waiter listing the menu offerings at a fancy bistro.

"Regular gourmet feast," Carol laughed softly. She'd gotten quite a reputation for being able to make just about anything he brought back from his hunting forays into something edible with the things she gleaned from around them and what they scavenged in the houses they sheltered in, however temporarily. She could've even made a decent hash from the dog food Rick had so pridefully tossed aside after Carl had found it the other day.

"He helped you up on the bus and then you talked a bit..." Lori reminded her, resting her cheek on her hands, starting to give in to her weariness.

"My shoulder was hurting from the rifle kickback—he noticed I was bothered and asked about it." Carol continued.

"He _noticed_..." Lori gave a snort.

"_Now_ what's your problem?"

"He can't take his eyes off of you." Lori said in a tone that mocked Carol's obliviousness.

"You're insane." Carol scoffed, feeling the heat in her cheeks again.

"Honey, sometimes the looks he slants your way are so_ hot_ I have to _fan_ myself." Lori said, her voice low and mocking.

"Stop!" Carol reached out and lightly smacked Lori on the shoulder.

"The man is sweet on you, Carol. He just doesn't know what to _do _about it. We all think so."

"All? Who's all?"

"Maggie, Beth—even Glenn and T-Dog have asked me what's up with you two."

"I'm going to quietly die from embarrassment now, thank you..."

"Andrea and I even talked about it at the farm—how he held you back and then sat with you...after..." Lori's voice trailed off, not wanting to remind Carol of that sad day.

"He brought me a flower, you know. A Cherokee Rose. For Sophia."

"After?"

"No, before—he found it when he was looking for her. Came into the RV with it and told me the story. It's the state flower...I already knew the story...but he was so ...I don't know..._earnest_ about it, I let him tell me as if I'd never heard it before. It seemed so personal to him, so kind to try to give me hope. That's when I knew there was so much more to him than I'd ever imagined." she sighed, moving her hands to mirror Lori's pose. "He scared me at first—all I saw was the loud, the angry—like Ed."

"Me too. I didn't want Carl around him at camp—and then I was so angry at him for taking Rick back to look for Merle..." Lori mused.

"When did it change for you?"

"I think I started to respect what he could do for the group when he saved T-Dog that day on the highway..." Lori said. When T-Dog had recounted Daryl's brave rescue of him after he'd accidentally sliced open his arm Lori had at first been puzzled. Why would a white supremacist save a black man—the black man who had left his brother stranded on a roof?

She'd suspected then that just as Ed's shadow had obscured the truly brave and resourceful person Carol was, so had Merle's presence tarnished Daryl's halo.

"He protected Sophia and me when we were getting out of the CDC—took out a walker with two axes—I was running for my life and it still impressed the hell out of me!" Carol said with a short laugh, and then sobered.

"He came back for me—at the farm." Carol remembered that terrible night, the barn in flames, Andrea just _gone,_ T-Dog speeding away, believing her down as well, doing his best to save the ones he could, Lori and Beth, as she screamed for him to stop, wait...and then running until she thought her heart would burst. They never tire, the dead. They are slow but they are relentless.

Carol had found herself at the tree line where the ever increasing row of graves marked the boundary between the living and the dead; saw the grave that held her child's remains and then she screamed with everything she had left in her at the unfairness, the bitter answer to her plea to an unjust God for mercy.

And then she heard it, the buzzing roar of his motorcycle and blindly ran towards it, to the farm lane, followed by at least a dozen geeks, stumbling, crying, but knowing that if Daryl saw her he would save her.

"I envied you getting to ride on his motorcycle." Lori admitted, drawing Carol back into the present.

"The bad boys in school always had motorcycles...all that power between your legs is as sexy as sin." Carol said without thinking and then covered her mouth with her hand. "I can't believe I said that—you are a _bad_ influence on me, Lori Grimes!" and they both giggled.

"So would you?" Lori asked.

"Would I _what_?" Carol stalled, knowing very well what Lori was asking.

"_Do _Daryl."

"Lori!" Carol sounded scandalized, shocked and a little frightened.

"Is it because...because of Ed? Because of what he did to you?" Lori had gotten most of the story of Carol's hell of a marriage in these nightly conversations; knew about the psychological and physical abuse, the breaking of her spirit; how her fear for her daughter had finally given her the strength to leave him, only to be stopped by the dead rising.

"No." Carol sighed. She'd kissed Daryl once, on the forehead, to thank him after he'd almost died trying to find Sophia. He'd flinched, as if preparing for a blow. "It's not just that. Daryl has his own damage to deal with." He knew she'd seen his scars, heard it in his angry shout when she'd tried to talk to him after Sophia, _"You gonna try'n make this about my daddy or somthin'?"_

"We all need to find some way to let go of the past. This is a new world, a new beginning." Lori said hoping it was true for her as well. She put her hand on Carol's cheek, "He's a _good_ man, Carol."

"I know. I think...I think he trusts me. We have a friendship that's important to me... and he feels responsible for...he worries about _all _of us." she finished, hoping Lori would let sleeping dogs lie.

"_Carol_." Lori chided. "He had his _hands_ on you." she reminded her.

"He rubbed my shoulder for a minute when I said the rifle kick back made it sore. That hardly counts as foreplay." but she blushed, remembering how she'd boldly flirted with him: _"Pretty romantic...screw around?" _Lori flicked on the flashlight again.

"That's what I thought. You _liked _his hands on you." Lori crowed.

"Turn that damn thing off." Carol growled, holding her left hand in front of her face and closing her eyes while she tried to grab the flashlight with her other hand.

"I think you should just jump him." a small voice piped up from the doorway. Both women's heads swiveled around with a start—it was Beth, her arms crossed in front of her, standing on one foot, wearing a pink t-shirt and shorts, her feet bare.

"Honey—I'm sorry, did our chatter wake you?" Lori said apologetically. "You look cold, come here." Beth padded over to the bunks and Lori handed her blue plaid flannel over and the girl quickly donned it and perched at the foot of the bed.

"So we're talking about boys?" Beth said, sounding so young, more 13 than 17. She'd been quiet, much more introspective since losing both Patricia and Jimmy that last night at the farm. At first they'd worried that she would slip back into her suicidal depression, but her new relationships within the group seemed to help her get past it. She'd taken to watching over Carl when it became clear the boy had a crush on her and his anger at his mother made it hard for him and Lori to communicate. She'd also gotten closer to Glenn, who she seemed to view as a big brother due to his relationship with her sister.

"We're talking about boys." Lori agreed.

"Daryl's not a _boy_." Carol objected.

"Oh Carol—sometimes he's younger than _Carl_!" Lori laughed. "He bites his nails and then pouts when you get on his case about it; he dresses like Pigpen, he eats with his _hands_ and licks his fingers—and then there's that little bashful smile he has!"

"Why don't we get Maggie in here so we can talk about how dreamy Glenn's shoulders are?" Carol said sarcastically, trying to divert Lori's laser intense focus away from Daryl.

"Daryl's are dreamier." Beth piped up, causing both Lori and Carol to look at her in astonishment. "Face it Carol, your boyfriend is _hawt_." Beth teased.

"He's _not _my—"

"Children, unless you want the man in question in on this conversation," came a deep melodious voice from the cell doorway, interrupting Carol. "I think it's time to shut it down for the night,"

"Hey T-Dog." Beth called.

"I'm heading out for watch duty—Daryl and Rick will be back soon." he warned them.

"Sorry—we thought we were keeping it down. Didn't know anyone else could hear us." Carol apologized, wishing she could crawl under the bunk and hide.

"I can hear you." called Glenn from the cell above them.

"_We_ can hear you," echoed Maggie.

"I don't think the convicts can hear you in the other cell block, if that's any consolation." Hershel drawled from the cell next door. He was recovering well, but was still weakened from his serious trauma only days before and it heartened them all to hear him join in with the teasing.

"When did this become the Waltons?" Carol sputtered, and everyone laughed. It felt good to have something to laugh about.

"What's a Walton?" Carl said as he joined T-Dog, sounding puzzled, just as the laughter was dying down, setting them off again. He was on the same watch as the big African American man tonight, with Glenn and Maggie taking the final shift into the morning.

"What the hell's goin' on in here?" Rick said angrily, swinging the metal bar door open with a clang. Daryl followed closely behind, his crossbow up, looking wary. The laughter abruptly ceased.

"Good_night _John boy." Lori said dryly, and that sent them all back into gales of giggles that evolved into almost hysterical laughter. Tears were running down T-Dog's face and he was holding onto the bars of Lori and Carol's cell to stay upright. Even Carl, who had no idea what they were laughing _about_, was going with it, enjoying the sound of happiness for once.

Daryl looked into Carol and Lori's room through the bars, saw Beth and both women on the lower bunk.

"Musta lost our invites to y'all's slumber party in the mail," Daryl observed to Rick, bumping him with his shoulder, letting his stance relax, the bow drop to his side, defusing the other man's tension. He was good at that. Had a lot of practice.

"Come on in, Daryl, the more the merrier," Lori said with a grin, pointing to the chair across from the beds. Carol made a face at her, but that only made Lori's grin wider. With a shrug, Daryl surprised them all by pushing past T and Carl to enter the cell, setting his bow on the floor and settling in, his poncho draped over the arms of the hard wooden office chair, one long leg crossed over the other.

"So what're we chattin' _about_—teachers, parents or boys?" Daryl asked, tongue firmly in cheek. "I hear tell that's what's discussed at these thangs." Shocked, Carol rolled over to flash him a surprised look just as Beth calmly replied,

"Boys," setting everyone, except Rick, off again. Even Daryl nodded his head and grinned, turning to give Rick a knowing look and then yawning, covering his mouth with his hand.

When the merriment died down Rick made an exasperated sound, knowing he was being ridiculous, knowing that they needed the release from their tightly wound fear, but feeling disconnected, outside the loop, as all leaders often did. He lead them, he wasn't one of them.

"Well, it's...it's freakin' the walkers out." Rick frowned, lifting his rifle and stalking towards his cell. "Carl, T—get going—you're late for watch." he called back.

"Sounds like a plan to me." T-Dog said, putting his hand on Carl's shoulder. "Let's go little man."

"You gonna tell me what a Walton is?" Carl persisted, wanting to know as much as he could about everything he could.

"Much as I can recall—I was more of a _Dexter _fan myself ..." the older man began.

"No way, T-Dog," Lori called out, knowing the violence of the world they lived in was so much worse than any TV show, but not wanting Carl to perhaps admire a heroic serial killer.

"Yes M'am. _Waltons_ it is." T-Dog returned smoothly as the two left and locked the cell block door behind them. The sound of soft snoring broke the ensuing silence. Beth poked Lori on the leg and pointed at Daryl, sound asleep in the chair, his head slumped slightly to the side.

"How does he _do_ that?" Lori whispered, wishing sleep could always be so easy for her.

"Handy talent," Carol said, knowing it came in part from not knowing when you'd get the next chance to rest, waiting in dread for the other shoe to drop.

"Should we wake him up so he can go to his perch?" Beth asked quietly.

"No—he'll be fine—and then Carol can stare at him all night if she wants." Lori smirked softly and Carol harrumphed, but found herself doing just that. He did look like a sweet little boy when he slept...

She'd often watched him surreptitiously as they slept around a campfire or in the temporary shelter of a house or storage unit. He always set up his bedroll exactly 3 feet from hers, just out of arms' reach, at her back, but _she_ always rolled over in the night, after he'd dozed off, so she could look at him.

"Ok—nite." Beth whispered, patting them both on the leg and sliding off the bed. Instead of leaving though, she hesitated and tip toed over to Daryl.

"Elizabeth Anne Green!" Carol hissed, but the girl ignored her and pressed a light kiss to Daryl's forehead. He didn't stir. Beth looked at Carol, pointed at her, and then pointed at Daryl's lips. Carol rolled her eyes and made a shooing gesture at Beth who sighed exaggeratedly and put her hands on her hips.

_"Car-ol..."_ Daryl mumbled, shifting in the chair so his body was more sideways, his head resting more comfortably on his broad shoulder, his arm on the back of the chair. Beth's eyes went wide and she put both hands over her mouth. Lori sat up, putting her hand on Carol's back.

"Did he just say...?" she hissed and Beth nodded, her dimples deepening as she suppressed her glee. Carol couldn't breathe; her was heart racing. She'd just listened to him say her name in his dreams...

Their good mood would survive until morning when Glenn and Maggie were teased by Daryl, of all people, for overstaying their watch shift in the tower, the usually surly tracker grinning as he yelled up at them,

"You _comin_'?" and Carol, T-Dog and Rick laughed out loud as Glenn appeared, shirtless, fastening his pants, looking embarrassed. It was the happiest they would all be for a long time.

By that evening, Carol would be lost in the Tombs after T-Dog had sacrificed himself for her, Carl would have kept his dead mother from turning after Maggie performed an emergency c-section, delivering Judith, Daryl and Maggie would be on a run, searching for food to keep the newborn alive, and Rick would have lost his mind with grief, listening to the voices of the talking dead.


	4. Chapter 4: Why we stay

_**Daryl's POV chapter on some of the same events we've already heard Carol recall. I wanted to explore his motivation for staying with the group after they returned from the ill fated mission to rescue Merle. **_

_4. Why we stay_

Daryl swung Carol up out of the car seat and into his arms and hers went around his neck. She rested her head against his shoulder. She was so light, so small, but not as fragile as she'd been when he'd had to carry her out of the Tombs. The ensuing year had strengthened her, put strong lean muscle onto her arms, her long legs—her heart shaped ass taunting him with its perfection as she strode across the prison yard busy with some task.

He'd desired women before—he was no eunuch—but the power she had over him was different. He didn't just want her; he needed her to _know_ him, to _believe_ in him. She'd been the first person to ever tell him that he was important, that he mattered. All of these people had given him so much—from Rick's trust, to Dale's assertion that he was a good man and Glenn's easy friendship—they mattered more than he could put into words. But it was Carol...she was the reason he'd stayed after Merle had been lost the first time.

He hadn't understood it at first. Why he'd stayed. When they gotten back from Atlanta instead of finding Merle wrecking vengeance they'd found a massacre in progress as dozens of walkers overran the camp. He'd waded into the fray as second nature. He and his brother had been fighting the geeks for weeks, it was nothing new, but this time it wasn't his own hide or Merle's he was out to save, it was the group.

The next day he'd argued with Rick and Shane about disposing of the dead, about what to do about Amy, and then Jim when his bite had been outed. He'd seen people come back—seen them kill the very people they'd loved. The others hadn't and didn't get the urgency with which he went about the ugly task of putting a pick axe through the heads of people he'd known and geeks alike. One good strike regardless, and they were done and he moved on.

The faster he worked, the faster _he_ would be done, his obligation to these people over. He felt uncharacteristic guilt—maybe Shane had the truth of it—going back for Merle had left the camp vulnerable. Would so many have died if they'd stayed? He just wanted it over so he could leave and go back to look for Merle, even if it got him killed.

_"He's my husband."_ Daryl had barely registered Carol's presence beside him most of the day until she'd held out her hands asking him for the tool to finish her husband's sorry existence. He'd stayed and watched her; worried she'd be too weak to complete the task. Merle had called her "the mouse" when he deigned to notice her, and Daryl hadn't let himself dwell on the sadness in both she and her daughter's big blue eyes.

She'd surprised him with her fury, her fire, bringing the razor honed heavy implement down on the walker mauled son of a bitch's skull five freakin' times. Her cathartic gut wrenching cries made him wince in empathy. He knew her then. Knew she was like him. Fires of rage banked deep, fires of passion. His sparked up often, lashing out at others around him while hers tended to turn inward, but they were alike, forged in the same furnace of abuse and pain.

They'd both lost someone who'd kept them down, under their thumb. She'd stayed with her husband for the same reason he'd stayed with Merle: family loyalty. She'd made a vow, had a child and made a home. But now they were both alone. He saw Lori comfort her, knew Rick would extend his protection to her, and knew Shane had already come to her defense against Ed's abuse, but he also knew they could never really _understand_ her.

So he'd stayed. It took a while for Rick to get it; why he stayed. Even when they were on the farm, after he'd thought he'd proved his loyalty to the group by saving T-Dog, by accepting responsibility for the search for Sophia, Rick had stopped him one morning, asked him if he was ok by himself going into the woods. His curt reply, "Do _better_ on my own," had been emblematic of his frustration with himself, with his inability to separate his feelings for Carol from the self preservation instincts that were screaming at him to flee.

Rick had told him that now that they had a home base, Daryl didn't have to stick around, that he _"didn't owe them anything..." _His retort_, "My other plans fell through,"_ had been sarcastic, meant to remind Rick of his part in the loss of Merle, but he'd also been hurt that Rick didn't understand yet...how much he had committed himself to the group by staying with them even after the CDC when he could've melted into the Atlanta back alleys, looking for his brother.

Every time after that when he'd felt shut out, decided to just _go_, Carol had always been there. She'd gentled him, yelled at him, argued with him, smiled at him or just looked at accusingly him with those big blue eyes. He hadn't been nice, most of the time. He didn't know how to be. He wasn't some smooth player like Shane or some god damned hero like Rick or even a wide eyed charmer like Glenn. He was a sweaty dirty rough redneck with no social skills and little experience with delicate little women with spines of steel.

Taking her the flower had been about the most terrifying thing he'd ever done in his life. As soon as he saw it he knew it was for her, but he'd paced in front of the abandoned farm house half the afternoon, practicing what he was going to say to her over and over until it came out sounding half way intelligent. She'd sat there, after her initial surprise, not saying a word, letting him get through it all the way without interrupting, wiping tears away when he finished and smiling softly in acknowledgement.

He'd felt lighter than air when he'd walked out of the RV, more determined than ever to find Sophia, to keep her hope alive...

He could still hear her anguished sobs when what was left of Sophia had come out of the barn. The sound of ultimate sorrow, the sound of hope destroyed.

He'd almost gone then, his shame too much to bear. He'd failed Carol; failed Sophia. It didn't matter that it must've been Otis who'd put her in there, that she must've been bitten almost as soon as Rick had led the walkers away from her. He still should've found her, even if only to have ended her before she turned, before Carol had to see her like that.

He'd moved his tent to the farthest edge of the farm, still just in sight of the house, by the ruins of an old stone hearth and chimney that Jimmy had told him had been part of the original cabin on the property, torn down when the big house had been built at the turn of the century.

He tried to shut them out, ignored Lori's request to go after Rick. Carol had come to him too, as he'd known she would. They'd fought; he'd yelled ugly things at her—she'd thought he was going to hit her at one point—but he'd actually been perilously close to crushing her to him, thanking her for caring...but then she'd huffed out that brave little sigh and his heart broke open... ashamed, and he'd turned away.

She'd known he was capable of violence, but had still come to him. How did that make him any different from her asshole of a husband?

When they'd brought Randall back with them, he'd had to take a stand. He'd listened to Rick's account of what had happened in town, the duplicity of the men the kid had been running with and knew they were dangerous, a real threat to the group. While back at the camp they jawed about what to do with their captive, he'd done what was necessary to find out just _how_ dangerous.

Daryl stood by his actions, but could see the disappointment etched into Carol's face. She'd come to him, but instead of sitting him down and tending his wounds like he'd hoped, she merely handed him the antiseptic and gauze for his bloody fists and proceeded to quietly read him the riot act about what he'd done.

His need to never see that look on her face again had drawn him back into the middle of the group, working with Rick, giving him his respect and loyalty. He saw in the former lawman the things he'd always wanted to find in Merle: strength, wisdom, and honor.

Rick had the ability to do what was necessary, make the hard decision for the good of the others. He'd done it with Sophia and it had almost broken him. Daryl couldn't have done it, knowing Carol would always remember whose hand had put her daughter down. Taking the gun out of Rick's hand to give Dale mercy had been his way of thanking Rick for that.

Taking Shane out had been inevitable. A group couldn't have two leaders. Daryl never sought that; knew Rick hadn't either, knew the best leaders were the ones who _didn't _want it.

That last night at the farm he'd been ready to die if it meant saving the others. This time when Lori had asked him to go after Rick he'd done so without hesitation. Something had turned in him. These were his people now.

As the tide of walkers overwhelmed them and the others fled, he'd stayed; sat at the top of the lane, watching the barn burn, not knowing who had escaped, feeling as hopeless as he had years ago watching his own home burn. He hadn't seen Carol in any of the cars that passed him, didn't know what had happened to her, where she was. She was just gone, just like his mother.

Then he heard the screams. _Her_ screams. And he was able to do for her what he hadn't been able to do for his mother, for Sophia, for Dale. He'd saved her.

They'd all grown closer in the winter, living off the land, struggling to stay alive surrounded by herds and the possibility of running across the Governor or someone even worse. He and Carol had become a pair, linked by everyone in the group, if only subconsciously. They watched out for each other, were at ease in the silences they shared. They didn't trade their life stories or bond over what books and films they liked. They just were.

She'd even gotten comfortable enough with him to tease him, which amused and perplexed him at the same time. He wanted her friendship, valued the peacefulness it gave him. And yet being around her always set him slightly on edge, as if there was a slight buzzing under his skin, as if he was waiting for something else to happen; what that was though, he wasn't quite sure yet.

The first night at the prison as he'd stood watch on the overturned bus he'd known she would come to him with food—she was always pushing him to eat—and he tried not to look back to the campfire behind him too many times and betray his impatience. He couldn't care less about the food; it was _her _he'd been missing. They hadn't had any time alone together all week. Lori was monopolizing most of her time as the days until she delivered dwindled. He understood it; didn't have to like it.

When the excuse to put his hands on her had come, he'd carefully licked the remnants of the greasy meat off of his fingers so he didn't soil her shirt. She'd been in pain and he knew he could make her feel better. That was really his only motivation, but somehow in the middle of it that buzz under the skin had made his fingers sizzle and he knew she'd felt it too.

And god damn if then she hadn't just flirted her little ass off... He'd actually been proud of her underneath his shy dismissal of her invitation to "screw around." After all she'd been through, to still voice desire? To still put that out there? She had more guts than he'd ever had.

He'd almost lost her again in the Tombs barely a week later; had even said goodbye to her, visited her grave, left the rose, coming full circle.

He stayed then for what she had opened up in him; the ability to care for others. He found food for the baby, watched over Rick, and had commiserated with Carl over their lost mothers as they cleared the Tombs.

Part of him had known he might find Carol dead there...and turned. The thought of it, especially after he'd found her knife in the throat of a hulking walker, had brought him to his knees. He'd stayed there after Carl and Oscar had left, his back against the wall, stabbing the small blade into the floor, the wall over and over, counterpoint to the metal door of the solitary cell across the hall clanking and clanging irregularly over and over as whatever dead thing inside tried to get to him.

His anger built as he sat, useless, helpless against the feelings that rose up threatening to choke him, finally propelling him up. He paced the floor in front of the door, steeling himself for what he was now sure he'd find behind it. He had to do this...this one last thing to show her how much he cared; to let her go. Release her as Andrea had done for Amy, as Rick had done for Sophia...

Clutching her knife in his teeth he dragged the body of the fallen walker away from the door and crouched, blade up as he swung open the door. And there she was; her crystal blue eyes looking up into his with recognition. He had to touch her, make sure she wasn't just a mirage, seeing what he wanted so badly to see that he'd gone as crazy as Rick...

He'd carried her to safety then, just like he was carrying her now. But things had shifted between them again in the car today. He'd finally matched her bravery. He wasn't running away any more. He'd finally admitted she was why he stayed.

_**(I actually went back and watched the S3 opener, "Seed" to make sure my recollection of the bus scene was correct and yes, as he's on watch on the overturned prison bus Daryl looks back to the campfire as much as or more than he looks out to the perimeter of the prison before Carol brings him his food. He's waiting for her...)**_


	5. Chapter 5: The Shipping News

_**Another (very short) flashback based on the fight scene in the S4 San Diego Comicon Preview between Daryl, Tyreese and Rick. Some freeze frames of it show what looks like Carol's hand reaching in trying to stop them, so I used that as a prompt to set the scene of why Daryl and Carol aren't speaking at the start of this story. BTW I do like Tyreese thus far in the TV show, but seeing as he didn't treat Carol very well in the comics I felt justified in making him a bit of a jerk here ;-)**_

_5. The Shipping News_

"Stop it! Both of you!" Carol yelled, watching as Tyreese grabbed the front of Daryl's vest and pulled his hand back in preparation to punch him in the face. She'd been quietly talking with Daryl when Tyreese had sauntered over and asked if he could have a word with her. She'd told him she was busy at the moment, but he was insistent so she'd asked Daryl if he minded waiting, and then had gone a few feet away to talk to Tyreese. The big African American man had been persistent in his attempts to get to know her better, something which she found flattering, but uncomfortable.

This time he was inviting her to join him on watch duty that night; ostensibly because his usual partner, his sister Sasha, was going out on a run tomorrow and so had to turn in early. But 'going on watch' had become code for a going on a date in the new social world here at the prison, including anything from talking to making out to sex because the watch tower was one of the few private places in the whole complex.

Carol had politely declined, making an excuse that Tyreese didn't quite buy and he had taken hold of her arm when she started to turn away and pulled her back towards him. Caught off guard she'd almost fallen and he'd hauled her up a bit roughly.

"Get your hands off her!" Daryl yelled, suddenly there, grabbing Tyreese's arm and pushing him back with an open handed slap to his chest. Tyreese released Carol and she stumbled backwards, her momentum arrested as she came up against Daryl, her shoulders hitting his chest.

"You ok?" Daryl asked her, briefly touching his hands to her shoulders to give her stability and then moving her behind him, protecting her, placing himself between her and the bigger man.

"She's fine—she just stumbled." Tyreese protested.

"I wasn't talking to you." Daryl growled.

"I'm fine—please, Daryl." Carol asked, trying to defuse the situation.

"You can _leave_ now." Daryl said, getting in Tyreese's face.

"I was talking to the lady—if she wants me to go she can tell me herself—Carol?" Tyreese tried to push around Daryl to get to Carol and that was it—he'd had it. Daryl rammed his shoulder into Tyreese's chest, knocking him back. Tyreese grappled with him, taking a hold of his vest—they were like two sumo wrestlers fighting for dominance without throwing a punch.

"Stop it! Both of you!" Carol cried, but they were beyond listening. Carol looked wildly around for help and saw Rick just coming out of the main building and ran towards him. "Rick! Help—please!"

"Walkers?" Rick bit out, hefting his machete and running towards her.

"I wish." Carol said back, shaking her head at him. He looked puzzled until he saw the two men going at each other.

"Shit." He's been afraid of something like this. Rick's law enforcement training made him sensitive to the verbal and non-verbal dynamics of the people around him—he had to be able to read people and what he'd been getting off of Tyreese lately was frustration.

Sasha's budding relationship with one of the new men had left him more and more on his own. Carol's nurturing he'd been aftHnature and place within the inner circle had drawn him to her, but he'd somewhat willfully ignored the fact that Carol was already _in_ a relationship, however ambiguous and ill defined.

Rick handed his machete to Carol and insinuated himself between the two combatants, grabbing Tyreese beefy shoulder, but by this time Tyreese was only seeing red and the meaty fist he'd been about to slam into Daryl's face instead connected with Rick's jaw, knocking him to the ground.

Daryl went cold—this asshole was going after his woman_ and_ his best friend—his brother? No fucking way. Dancing up onto the balls of his feet Daryl moved forward and his fist, lightning fast, slammed into Tyreese's eye, knocking his head back. He followed it with three quick jabs to the man's midsection and solar plexus. Tyreese reeled back but Daryl gave him no quarter, continuing to punch him until he went down.

Daryl reached down to grasp Rick's forearm and pull him up; Rick nodding at him when he was fully standing and wiping the blood off of his mouth. The men both looked down at Tyreese, knocked out cold, lying on the pavement, his eye already starting to swell.

"Whatta're we gonna do about this asshole?" Daryl grunted, looking up at Rick, but he was looking at Carol, who looked bewildered and guilty, Rick's machete hanging loosely from her hand.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" she said to Daryl, "I was handling it." Startled, Daryl frowned at her and opened his mouth to say something, but then made a sound of disgust, turned on his heel and stalked away, snagging his crossbow off the ground as he walked by it.

_**Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews you have given this story so far! Some sweet smutty MA Caryl up next...**_


	6. Chapter 6: Three little words

_**Ok, kids, you might want to have a glass of cool water ready to splash on yourself after reading this one. Sweet Caryl smut. Definitely M...maybe MA.**_

6. _Three little words_

Carol and Daryl hadn't talked for three whole days after the incident with Tyreese.

Rick had sent the bruised and battered man off on the scavenging run with Sasha, Michonne and the others the next day to get the men away from each other; to give them time to cool off. He hoped it wouldn't take Carol too long to understand why Daryl had done what he had. Rick understood. Rick had killed his best friend to protect what was his.

Carol was angry that Daryl had thought her so helpless. She'd worked hard to make herself strong and independent and the idea that he'd thought he had to rescue her once again made her furious.

For his part Daryl knew he'd over reacted in the extent of the beat down he'd given the other man, but it had been primal, the need to protect her, to protect Rick. It wasn't always easy to temper one's responses when the more typical reaction to a threat these days was a knife or a bullet through the head. In his mind Tyreese was lucky to still be alive.

Daryl had left for two days on a hunt, seeking the peace of mind the woods always gave him, but for the first time he just felt _alone_ rather than content with the solitude he had sought. He even regretted having to kill the doe who wandered into his path, looking at him curiously with huge soft eyes, and then berated himself in a voice he recognized as his brother's, _"Pussy..." _as he fired the bolt that took her down and then field dressed thebeautiful creature.

He was bloody and exhausted from dragging the fucking thing more than a mile, mercilessly slaughtering the walkers who trailed after him, trying to steal his kill. Any pride he'd felt at returning with the fresh meat evaporated when Carol wasn't waiting to greet him.

He'd showered the sweat, dirt and blood from his body and changed into the clean clothes he'd found waiting on his bunk. Hoping their presence was a sign that she'd started to thaw a bit, he'd gone looking for her. Though they looked at him with sympathy, no one gave her up. She'd obviously made their friends promise not to reveal her location to him.

After looking every place he could think of, he'd returned to his room, his eyes roving around it, seeing the jacket she'd sewn for him hanging from the bed post, the childish paintings of him on his motorcycle that the kids in her art class had done for him taped to the wall, the copy of _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_ she'd laughingly presented to him after sorting through the books brought from the Woodbury library, the small wooden animals he'd whittled, lined up on the shelf in front of his books, all in various states of finish, some that she'd stained with plant dyes she'd made from things like grass, cherries, walnut shells and wode...

It didn't matter that he hadn't found her tonight. She was here. She was always with him.

Daryl picked up his knife and sat on the lower bunk. He pulled out a wooden box from under the bed and opened the lid, lifting a small carved object he'd almost finished, turning it over in his hands, examining it to see what he had left to do. He decided he'd stain the spiky leaves green, the teardrop shaped petals he would bleach white and the star shaped pistils in the center could stay the natural golden yellow of the maple wood he'd carved it from.

She'd have to forgive him sometime, wouldn't she?

Told the next day that Carol was busy supervising the butchering and processing of the meat from the doe, Daryl learned he'd been given a new watch partner for that afternoon, Glenn. When the young father-to-be hadn't shown, Daryl's temper had gotten the best of him and he'd stormed into the cell block. But she'd needed him...his friends had needed him.

So now they were blockaded in a storm shelter 50 miles from the place they needed to go to get the medical supplies to save Glenn. He'd had to take out four geeks in the barn and two in this small underground space before he could safely bring her in and hide the car, but it had been relatively easy.

They seem to have been trapped in their enclosures for quite some time—they were emaciated, slow, and almost torporous—and fell to his bolts and knife quickly. As he was dragging them out to pile them up like so much cord wood he saw that their wrists and throats had all been slit—suicides. They'd all opted out, not knowing they'd turn, most likely.

Carol felt more human after having washed her hands and face and brushed her teeth and was also grateful for the chemical toilet behind a screen in the back of the long underground room.

Daryl had left her alone briefly, announcing he needed to heed the call of nature outside-well, he'd actually started to say, "Take a piss," but had stopped in mid-sentence, looking bashful as all get out.

Living in the close quarters they had all last winter it wasn't like they had much embarrassment left about natural bodily functions, but she realized that he was seeing her differently now-not just as his friend and fellow survivor, but as a woman to be wooed.

"Why did you go off on Tyreese like that?" Carol asked quietly, pulling his poncho up higher, over her shoulders. She sat on a mattress pushed against the far wall on the floor that the original residents must've placed down here when they were outfitting it as a survival shelter. A small battery powered Coleman lantern gave a bit of light to the space, but the majority of the room was in dark shadow.

"How's your head?" Daryl asked, avoiding her question, and then grunted as he finished sliding the heavy work bench in front of the door to the outside stairway making sure nothing could breach the entrance.

"Better. Ice pack helped take the swelling down." There had been a fully stocked emergency med kit in the shelter, including dry gel ice packs that activated when squeezed. Her nausea and dizziness was better and her pupils normal as well, though she had a bitch of a headache.

She looked down at the MREs she'd found, unwillingly remembering how Ed had hoarded theirs in the early days of the outbreak, refusing to let her use them to feed a hungry little boy and his mother...Carl and Lori.

Daryl came over and crouched down in front of her, lifting the scarf she'd wrapped around her head to hold the pack on her bump, to examine it. He grimaced—he hadn't liked her wearing the things ever since that day she'd been lost in the Tombs.

"I think you can take it off for a bit—20 minutes off, 20 on, right?" he said, repeating her instructions to him earlier. She'd done a lot of medical training and study with Hershel and the Woodbury doctor, Stevens, over the last few months and had become the equivalent of a very capable nurse or EMT. She reached up to remove the scarf but he'd already started to do the same and their hands collided awkwardly.

He tried to back away, but she caught his hand and held it, letting the scarf and ice pack fall into her lap as she looked up at him. The low buzz under the skin snapped and crackled. She tugged him forward and he moved to sit beside her, pushing aside the MRE packets.

She could tell he was hesitant—their kiss in the car had been a big step and she wasn't quite sure if it meant the same to him as it had meant to her. It was always going to be one step forward two steps back with him...but she was a patient woman...

"Are you hungry?" she asked him then, releasing his hand, looking for a safe topic, looking away, reaching over him for the MREs, intent on her practical task, the poncho falling off of her shoulders to pool in front of them. She didn't see that his hand remained exactly where it had been when she'd released it, his expression one of confusion.

As she leaned over him Daryl could smell her hair again, feel her warmth against his chest and then his raised hand fitted itself to her shoulder, holding her still and turning her towards him. His arms came around her of their own volition, pulling her onto his lap and holding her to him in a tight hug. Carol held very still, afraid of scaring him. She could feel his chest rise and fall, his heart beating strong and fast against her ear.

"I hit him because he touched you." Daryl said, his chin resting on the crown of her head, answering her question from long minutes before. "Not because I didn't think you could handle yerself and not because I don't like Tyreese. I hit him because he put his hands on you and I couldn't handle it. You bein' with him."

"Me _being_ with him?" Carol asked quietly. Was he trying to tell her he was jealous?

"I know he's got a thang for you..." Daryl muttered. He'd been watching the big man maneuver his way into Carol's path for days. Every time he turned around it had seemed like Tyreese was there, sidling up to Carol.

"So?"

"So I didn't like it."

"Why?" she asked in a small voice. His reply was to slide his hand under her chin, lift it and then lean down to brush his lips against hers. He pulled back slightly and waited for her response, his eyes narrowing and a small crease appearing between his brows, almost as if expecting to have to flinch away, as if he'd done something wrong.

"Good reason..." she sighed, and he sighed in echo, in relief, and then returned his mouth to hers. His lips were dry, chapped—one of the drawbacks of how much time he spent on the damn motorcycle—but warm. He used his mouth gently, soft tentative kisses much like what they'd initially shared in the car.

Carol shifted, turned in his arms so she could put her arms over his shoulders, around his neck, her right hand finding the longer hair at his nape and tangling her fingers in it. By what right did he have such soft hair? It felt luxurious, thick and silky against her hand when she'd expected it to be coarse, wiry. He could still surprise her after all this time with something so elemental, so basic about him, when she thought she knew him...

Then she got more daring yet and slid her right leg over his left until she was straddling him, her center pressed against his lap. He made a noise half between a moan and a gasp and ripped his mouth from hers, his eyes wide, his expression shocked.

How many nights had he lain in his perch and later his cell thinking about this—what this would be like-to have her softly curving body tight against his? Dreaming about making love to her, waking up to such hardness that he'd fled to the outdoor showers more than once, thankful for the icy spray...or when even that hadn't cooled his response to her, he'd disappeared into the Tombs, used his hand, hard and fast, bringing release but little satisfaction, his bandana stuffed in his mouth so no one would accidentally hear him cry her name as he got himself off.

Carol tilted her head and giving him a slight smile, she rocked her hips forward. His hands were suddenly on her hips, arresting their motion, and she frowned at him. Holding her eyes with his he reached up and pulled the first button of her blouse out of its hole and when she didn't protest, he continued until it hung loose off of her shoulders.

He leaned in and she felt his dry lips press a kiss to her collar bone and then his tongue flicked out, hot, wet to lick here there. She gasped and shivered, her hips bucking forward again, feeling his hard length against her as he continued to lick his way down to where her breast gently curved out from her body.

His hands moved to her shoulders, dragging her blouse down and off in one swift motion and then moved to her back, fumbling with the clasp of her bra, which refused to yield to his attempts. His trembling hands dropped back to his sides and he made a noise of ultimate frustration.

_"Shit!"_ Daryl muttered and she started giggling. He closed his eyes and his head fell back and rested on the wall behind them and he sighed. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing." he admitted, sounding embarrassed and angry with himself.

The amount of experience he had with women was limited to a fumbling make-out session with a girl Merle had fixed him up with, crudely claiming she gave the best blow jobs in the county and didn't care how ugly the guy was. He'd been shy, turned on by her bared breasts and hot mouth on his body, but awkward, coming as soon as her hand had touched his erection and he'd fled, knowing she'd tell Merle and he'd be humiliated all over again.

She hadn't. She'd actually lied for him, telling Merle that he'd been 'awesome' and insinuating that his brother cold learn a trick or two from the kid. He'd never known why she'd done it—he'd never seen her again—but he wished now he had. She might've been able to show him what to do now when he finally had the woman he loved alone and in his arms...

"Daryl? Daryl, it's ok...it's sweet. It makes me feel special...that you _want_ me so much..." she reached out to him, running her fingers through his soft hair over and over, gentling him as should would any frightened wild thing...

"I don't—I don't just _want_ you...I..." he said softly, unable to say the three words that he knew were true, afraid she didn't feel the same, in what world would someone like her feel the same for someone like him?

"Daryl?" Carol said, putting her right hand under his chin, her thumb softly tracing the rougher hair of his beard there. "Would it be ok—I mean would it be all right if...if I told you..._showed_ you?" His eyes slit open, wary, and he looked at her a bit disbelievingly.

"What I like, how to touch me...would that be ok?" she asked and then held her breath—she didn't want to embarrass or anger him, but she'd never expected that someone as innately sensual as Daryl Dixon had no inkling of his appeal... how just the touch of his hand made her whole body flare to heat, how _wet_ his lips on her skin had made her...

Daryl's pupils went wide with desire and he nodded. She released his head and reached back around herself and undid the clasp of her bra.

"Can you help me with this?" she asked him and he tentatively reached up to slide the straps from her shoulders. "What you were doing before—your mouth on me—that was amazing..." she prompted warmly, keeping her voice low and throaty.

He leaned down and put his slightly opened mouth on the spot where her shoulder met her neck, his tongue laving the flesh, his moustache and beard scraping over the sensitive skin and making her shiver.

"Oh, God, Daryl, _yes,_ just like that...more... _Daryl_!" she gasped as he continued pulling her bra down and off of her body, slowly revealing more of her upper body to his gaze, tasting his way down.

Hearing his name on her lips in that sexy voice made him crazy. Breathing hard, he put his hands on her waist, sliding them up incrementally to her rib cage and then he finally carefully cupped both her full small breasts with his open hands. He felt her nipples peak, pebbling up against his palms and groaned. She was perfect, beautiful.

"More..." she demanded, leaning back, her hands on the back of his head pushing his mouth lower, to her breast and when his tongue found and circled the taut nipple she hissed,

_"Yesss..."_ her fingers flexing convulsively, holding his head to her. "You can suck—nibble—taste me—it's all good—_gentle_..." she instructed, and he responded immediately by sucking down tightly on her sensitive nipple, drawing it into his mouth, making little whimpering sounds in his throat.

She felt his cock swell even through the material of both their jeans—this was turning him on as much as it was her—and she let her hips push forward, rubbing her pelvic bone against him and he groaned.

"_Ssstop_—don' wanna come yet..." he moaned, lifting his head from her breast, his hands finding her hips again to still them. She looked startled—he was _that_ responsive—that _ready_ already?

He had the trigger setting of a teenager; and then she knew for sure that he'd been totally serious when he said he didn't know what he was doing. 30 something Daryl Dixon, one of the sexiest men she'd ever met, might just be a virgin... how was that possible?

He was blushing, his eyes tightly shut again, panting like a rabbit caught in a snare. Carol thought she'd seen Daryl's bravery before, but what barriers had he leaped or muscled through to be here, _now_ in this moment with her? What had happened to him that he had cut himself off from this part of himself?

"We can slow this down for you—let's just concentrate on me for awhile? Ok?" she asked him, her voice gentle, caring.

Daryl looked up at her from under his brow, again wary. She wasn't angry? Disappointed?

"Wh-what do you want me to do?" he finally asked, chewing on his lower lip. She took his hands in hers and drew them to the waist of her pants.

"Help me?" she asked patiently, and his eyes widened when instead of stopping at her button and zipper, she pulled his right hand to the apex of her thighs and he felt her damp heat right through the cotton cloth.

_"Shit..."_ he muttered, closing his eyes and sucking in a gulp of air as she rubbed herself against his upraised fingers and thumb, holding his hand against her tightly. She made a funny little mewling noise and gasped and he felt a rush of more damp against his fingers. _"Fuck..."_ he ground out and used both hands to find and open her button and zipper and tug hard, pulling her pants down so he could get at all that heat and wet or die trying.

Her position initially defeated him—he couldn't get her pants down her thighs, still draped over his, and so his hands went to her waist and he lifted her off of him, pushing her back onto the soft poncho draped over the mattress so he could strip the garments off of her.

Carol shivered then, not from the damp cold room so much as from the look in his eyes. She knew he could see her scars, her pale thin body had almost as many as his more rugged form, but the look wasn't disgust or pity, it was desire, plain and simple.

Daryl hesitated, his hands at the hem of his sleeveless shirt, and then he quickly pulled it up and off over his head, showing her how much they were the same, that he understood what they had both had to go through to get to this place.

He sat beside her, running his hands up her body, starting at her toes. The delicacy of his touch was offset by the callused roughness of his hands, the juxtaposition somehow the most wonderful thing she had ever felt. Ed's hands had been soft but cruel, digging into her skin, scratching, his drunken sloppy mouth biting her lips instead of pressing gentle feather light kisses to them as Daryl had done with his chapped and tender ones.

Daryl leaned down, his hands reaching her inner thighs, finding the skin inside there so peachy soft he had a compulsion to taste them. He bent over her, kissing first her right knee and then the jagged scar on her left and excruciatingly slowly, he lifted her right knee up and out, giving him access to the downy flesh he craved.

His chin whiskers tickled and she giggled for a few seconds until she felt his tongue slip out and taste her leg near...so near... His hands moved up, moving her legs further apart, his mouth following them up her body and then she felt his fingers lightly push through the dark damp curls at her center and she whimpered.

Daryl couldn't believe she was letting him do this—_wanting_ his touch at her most intimate places, leaving herself vulnerable to him like this. He wouldn't betray that trust—he would do his best to make her happy, even if that meant some humiliation at his lack of skill...

"Never... I never... done _this_ neither—you need to tell me what..." he admitted quietly, haltingly.

"Just touch me-like you've been doing...but _there...inside me..."_ she said in a shaky voice. She felt one tentative finger find her cleft and slide inside and her hips bucked a little. "Oh _Lord _yes!" she muttered, looking down at him, gasping.

"You can just call me Daryl..." he said dryly, meeting her eyes through the long dark bangs fringing his forehead with as sultry a look as she'd ever seen on his handsome face, and she couldn't believe he was making a joke at a time like this, when he was torturing her with his maddening slowness. His confidence increased with every moan and gasp, every word of praise she uttered.

Fuck she was wet, Daryl thought to himself—that meant she wanted him, right? Her body's way of readying itself for his? He let his index finger move in lazy circle around the swollen bud he found there, amazed that he could feel her pulse, her rapidly beating pulse, in the flesh.

Experimentally he increased the pressure, varied the speed, thinking of the kind of touch he liked, used on _himself_... and was rewarded with a choked off moan.

"Oh damn you, that's good." she sighed, her hips shifting up and back with his hand's movements. He paused and then let the finger slide in further, finding her opening and drawing more of the slick wetness back to her clit, increasing the speed of his careful strumming of her.

_"More,"_ she whimpered, "I need more..." she begged and leaned up so she could take his hands in hers. She splayed the fingers of the right out so his middle one was poised at her entrance and his thumb rested on her clit. Then she placed his left hand on her breast.

"Touch me..._inside_ me..." she repeated her earlier instruction and he finally _got_ it, what she needed. He slid his long middle finger forward and hissed as he felt how tight she was. She gave a sharp cry and he froze, afraid he had hurt her, but her hand was immediately back on his, forcing his finger forward, impaling her with it, and her hips rose up off of the mattress and she screamed his name.

"_Daryl_—please—_more_!" she gasped and he began to move his thumb in a circular caress as he simultaneously thumbed her nipple to a peak with his other hand and then found it with his mouth, licking and suckling there, making her cry out again. He felt her hips begin to move then, small motions up and back in a rhythm that he echoed, mimicked by drawing his finger almost out of her channel and then pushing it back in, repeating the penetration and release as her cries came in earnest now.

Sweat broke out on his brow and he was harder than he'd ever remembered being in his life. He drug his mouth from her breast, moving it down her body, wanting , needing to taste her, the sweet honeyed smell of her heat driving him insane. His fat tongue replaced his thumb, sucking her entire clit into his mouth and licking at it over and over, making a hard spear of his tongue then and just softly sucking. He could feel the trembling in her thighs, the building climax almost upon her and he redoubled his efforts.

It was too much, too good; she was losing her mind... her head floating away; her orgasm rising from the pit of her belly and slamming into her chest. She grabbed his long unruly hair with both her hands and keened as her body spasmed back and then forward. He rode the waves, continuing his loving assault on her senses as she screamed and cried out.

_"Daryl_—oh god—_oh god_ I love you..." she couldn't hide it from him anymore. Those three little words.

_**So how was it for you? **_

_**Keep sending your reviews-I need the reinforcement as the night continues for our dear Caryl...**_


	7. Chapter 7: Coming home

_**Daryl gets his next lesson and it's a doozy. Smoke 'em if you got 'em, folks, the night ain't over yet. What was it old Will S. said? "Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished..." M to MA.**_

7. _Coming hom_e 

"Ow." came a grumpy sounding male voice.

"What?" Carol asked, sleepy and soft.

"Arm's asleep." he told her. She was curled back against him, her head resting on the demon on his right bicep.

"I'll move—" Carol started to lift herself off of his outstretched right arm.

_"Don' go way_..." Daryl murmured, pulling her back against him with his left hand on her abdomen and changing the position of his other arm so it curled above her head. He felt her soft ass press against his belly and he let his left hand sweep lingerly down the smooth curve of her waist and then settle on her hip. He'd never been happier in his life.

"'Times'it?" she asked him, reaching her left hand down to take his and pull it up to cup her breast, smiling to herself when she felt him shiver a little. She felt his arm above her shift so he could pick up her watch.

"Only midnight—we been asleep about two hours—you said not to let you-yer head?" he said tentatively. At that she turned in his arms to face him, the slide of her body against his bumping up his heart rate, his body hardening.

"We fell asleep..." she repeated, lifting her arms so her hands could move to the back of his head. She tilted her face up to look at him, her sunny smile warming him. He felt her fingers playing with his hair, the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest, the heat of her body under his left hand now resting at the small of her back.

"M'up now." he murmured, kissing the small bruised bump on her brow and dragging her hips to his, hearing her quick intake of breath as she felt how 'up' he was.

Exhausted, she had drifted off last night after he'd had his first lesson. She'd looked so content, so pretty with the flush of her orgasm still pinkening her cheeks and chest as she lay there asleep on his poncho—he'd never wear it again without thinking of that moment—what he'd been able to do for her, how she'd come apart...how she'd told him she loved him.

He'd removed the rest of his clothes and lay down behind her, warming her with his body. He threw his right arm up over her head and his left went around her waist and she snuggled back into his chest, close, tight, totally trusting him even in her sleep.

He was actually a bit relieved that she'd drifted off. His head was so full of her—what they'd done...what he'd done... what she'd said—that he needed some time to process it.

He'd never trusted sex before. In his world it was something people used as a bargaining chip, a way to score drugs, use as emotional blackmail or to hurt others. Love was never part of the equation; '_get your rocks off and get out' _was his brother's motto. Had it tattooed between his navel and his cock. Women he fucked couldn't say that hadn't been warned about old Merle...

It had all seemed useless and empty to Daryl, just another way to fail. Besides, who would want a backward backwoods scarred up emotionally fucked up loser like him?

_She_ did. His Carol. She'd showed him so—_told_ him so. And like an asshole he hadn't said it back.

"I..." he began, but she pulled his head down and kissed him before he could finish, her mouth hard against his, desperate, nipping at his lower lip until he opened his mouth in a moan and she pushed her tongue inside to meet his. It was a long deep passion drugged kiss that seemed to go on forever, getting better with each passing second, making him as desperate as she was.

He lowered her back against the brightly colored blanket that he'd used his buck knife to style into a poncho and her legs went around him as he moved his body over hers. He broke the kiss so he could look into her eyes.

"Too fast?" he asked her, concern etched into his features. He didn't want to rush her, but he was dying to feel her around him, be in her, a part of her...

Carol wasn't sure she could keep breathing. Was this really happening? He was so careful, so tentative, his hands shaking as if he was afraid she would shatter under his touch, waiting for her to tell him it was ok. Not the bruising, grasping, careless. . . _No_, she wouldn't think of it, think of the past. She was with Daryl now.

Daryl looked deeply into her eyes, saw hesitation, a bit of fear. He understood that. The last man she'd had sex with had been her bastard of a husband.

"If you don't want to...I can...again..." he told her. She smiled as she realized he was offering to do what he'd done for her earlier in the night. It had been, well, pretty spectacular and she wouldn't mind a repeat performance, but it wasn't enough. She wanted more. She wanted_ him_.

Carol very deliberately withdrew her right hand from his hair and trailed it down his body, tracing the mysterious name tattooed over his heart, thumbing his nipple, making him close his eyes and expel a sigh.

"I want _you_." she whispered, giving him a lingering kiss at the same time her hand continued to rove down his body, finally reaching where he'd hoped it was going. He groaned into her mouth as her hand closed over him, his hips jerking forward.

She sighed, making a small sound of pleasure as she finally held him. He was so hard—his pulse beating strong, the texture of his skin kid glove soft against her hand. Her thumb circled the tip, spreading the drop of moisture she found there all around it and he panted. She slid her hand down the shaft then, watching his face. His mouth was open; his eyes squeezed tightly shut, sweat dripping off of his brow as he fought for control.

_"Killin' me, woman..."_ he whimpered and she arched her hips up and set the tip of his cock against her center. His eyes flew open and he took a ragged breath, still waiting for her permission. She stared at him, their breath now in synch, and then he knew what she was waiting for.

"I love you." he said, firmly and openly. Not tentative, not a whisper, but out loud, full of feeling, full of the emotion he so often kept hidden. "I've loved you for so long...I..."

"_Love me_." she smiled beatifically, her hand releasing him and moving to the point of his hip, pulling him forward, into her.

"Oh god—oh _Carol_-_I can't stop..._" he gasped, and he had to push forward, filling her and she bit her lip to keep from crying out, not wanting to have him think he was hurting her, but it had been awhile-years for her—and he was big and it did hurt, but it was also _good...so right..._

Daryl Dixon had learned to live his life not expecting anything. When his house had burned to the ground, taking his mother, he'd been cast adrift. He'd learned to never count on anyone or anything being there for him. From that day on he'd never had a real home.

If he got lost he had to find his own way back to the house where he lived...no one would come searching for him. He was an eight year old with no one who really gave a shit whether he lived or died.

He'd had a few fair weather friends who only came around when Merle was in juvie or jail. Women were a mystery, his experience of them limited to the skanks his father or Merle had hanging around, or the well meaning teachers who tried to help the bright beautiful motherless boy in ill fitting, dirty, torn clothes that haunted their classrooms after school, afraid to go home, or the overburdened ones at the foster homes he'd periodically been sent to when neither his brother or his father could be found, overcrowded places where he'd been put to work caring for the infants, something he'd actually liked, but would never tell Merle he'd done.

The people in the Atlanta camp and at the farm had been the first ones he'd had a chance to study closely without Merle's control—and he watched them intently and quietly, trying to figure out how normal families interacted.

He saw how Lori and Carol cared for Carl and Sophia, how much Andrea and Amy had meant to each other, how Rick looked to both Shane and Lori, brother and wife, how a good father behaved towards his son. It had amazed him how Rick never raised his hand to Carl, no matter what the little shit did...

He'd stayed and lived with them and had been accepted as part of the family; felt for himself how they all grew so close that they would lay down their lives for any one of the others, as T-Dog had done for Carol, as Andrea had done for all of them...

Merle's admonition had been branded into his brain_, "Ain't nobody ever gonna care about you 'cept __me__ baby brother."_ But Merle's version of caring; his brotherly love, had been selfish, conditional, only as good as long as Daryl did what Merle wanted, what Merle needed. If he had survived his kamikaze on the Governor maybe that would've changed—that sacrifice had been the first unselfish thing his big brother had ever done.

Was there ever anything Carol had done that _hadn't_ been unselfish? She'd talked with Merle in the days before he died—Daryl had seen them—maybe something she'd said had gotten through to him.

Carol knew how to make a _home._ It wasn't just the domestic everyday minutiae of life—yes, she excelled at those—but it was more than that. She somehow made them all feel like they belonged; that they were a true family regardless of blood. That's what kept them going, kept _him_ going, through everything, through this sorrowful life.

Daryl looked down at Carol's face, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. He frowned when he saw the crimson red of blood on her lower lip—had he done that? He stilled his movements, holding himself off of her on his right elbow and forearm while he brought his left hand up to her face, his thumb brushing her lip questioningly.

"It's ok...I'm ok." she soothed.

He nodded at her and leaned close to kiss her tenderly, his hand moving to cup her cheek and then lifted his head to lock eyes with her again. He never got enough of that warm crystal blue.

Carol brought both of her hands up to lightly skim over his firm rounded ass—god, he was gorgeous—all long lean muscle and _power. _Lori had been right...he was like a big cat, a panther...

He needed little encouragement—being inside her was like being inside a dream—better than anything he'd ever felt, the soft grasping tightness of her throbbed against him, held him sheathed inside her..._.all_ of him...they fit together perfectly...

He just stayed like that, buried deep, finally understanding why people searched for this, killed for this, died for this. It was the most physical intimacy he had ever shared with another human being; that it was also with the woman he loved was beyond anything he'd ever imagined possible for him.

Then she dug her fingers in, urging him to move, to finish what they had begun.

He pulsed his hips forward and back, in an easy rhythm, and she gave him a Mona Lisa smile, her breathing deep and fast, her eyes wide.

He was being too careful with her, she wanted more. She knew he'd been trying to go slow, prolong it for her, but she wanted him out of control, wanted to see, to hear his passion.

"More." was all she said, her voice guttural, and then she nodded at him and he pulled almost all the way out and then plunged back in and she opened her mouth, her gasp becoming a scream, her fingernails scoring his ass.

He hissed in pain but gave her a knowing smile as he withdrew and then repeated the hard thrust and she laughed and used her hands to push his hair back off of his face so she could see his eyes.

"_Mine_..." he said triumphantly, breathing hard, his eyes blazing blue sparks down at her, thrusting again, hard.

_"Always."_ she agreed, gasping, smiling, her tears spilling over. _"Always have been..."_

_"Yours..."_ he crooned,_ "Always will be."_ his voice rising in pitch as he worked his hips faster, and then his mutterings became incoherent whimpers and she felt his muscles seize up tight, his arms, his abs, his back, his ass clenched and his head went back and he cried out and shuddered, the hot gush deep inside her making her tremble uncontrollably.

His head fell to her shoulder, the aftershocks still affecting his breathing, but his arms went around her and he rolled to the side, tangling his legs with hers, holding her close.

_ "Love you...so fuckin' perfect, so sweet-my angel...my home..." _he gasped in a whisper, his face and chest flushed, his mouth at her temple, still embarrassed to say something so blatantly romantic, but meaning every syllable.

Carol relaxed against him; her arms around his torso, wishing tonight never had to end.

_**So finally! And yes, they did it on the poncho. Some of you readers have pretty twisty little Daryl Dixon fantasies, don't' cha? Love it!**_

_**Now we must get them to Senoia so they can work on saving Glenn-no, I didn't forget him in my smut filled haze, did you? Ha!**_

_**And please pardon the pun in the title, but I just couldn't resist...**_

_**Reviews, please, dearies.**_


	8. Chapter 8:Conversations with dead people

_**This is the "meanwhile back at the Prison" chapter.**_

_**If you are a BTVS fan you will recognize the title I borrowed for this chapter! Thank you JW, I only steal from the best.**_

_8. Conversations with dead people_

Glenn stood at the edge of a tall building with the hot Georgia summer sun trying to curdle his brain like a hardboiled egg. He leaned over to look down at the street below. Saw a tank. Saw hundreds of walkers swarming the barely visible corpse of a red roan horse next to it. He felt dizzy, disoriented—but he knew where...and when...he was.

"Looks like you're up shit creek, Jackie Chan; unless you learned how to _fly_..." A painfully familiar gravelly sarcastic drawl growled from behind him.

Glenn slowly turned around and saw Merle Dixon, handcuffed to a pipe on the roof the building where they'd left him so long ago. The day he'd met Rick, saved him when he'd been trapped in the tank below.

"Dumb ass." Glenn bit out, swaying slightly, his head throbbing, a sharp pain in his gut on the left side threatening to make him heave up his lunch...it had been a good lunch...venison...hadn't it?

Daryl had brought back the doe last night-at noon today Carol had breaded the chop cuts and fried them up in pork fat from one of Hershel's pigs...smiled as she told him greasy food was a good hangover cure... Maggie had looked at him with wry amusement, telling him she hoped he'd enjoyed his bender last night because that was the last one he was allowed before the baby...shit! _The baby! _

He looked around, panicked now—he had to get back to her-back to his wife-he looked over to where he remembered the door had been, saw it moving , almost pulsating, pushing in and rocking back, long blackened and grey fingers and glassy eyed faces trying to push through the crack revealed each time it came towards him.

"Locked; chained up thanks to the fuckin' key master hisself." Merle griped, simultaneously thanking T-Dog for not leaving him to the biters and damning him for dropping the key. "Geeks can't get through—I'as contemplatin' hackin' off this here hand til you showed up."

"I'm not supposed to be here." Glenn said, wrapping his arms around himself and hunching slightly against the burning in his belly. Looking down he realized he was wearing the same baseball shirt—the same entire outfit he'd had on that day, down to the cap—he hadn't worn a cap since the night the farm had been overrun...when he'd finally told Maggie he loved her...when he'd stopped feeling like a kid lost in a AU video game...finally knew this hellish world was real.

"Ain't none of us supposed to be here, Number 1 son. I should be back at camp eyeballin' the fine ass of one a them blondies Dale's hoardin in his RV... sister act, mm hmmn, that's what I'm talkin' about!" and he cackled, waggling his tongue lasciviously.

"Shut the hell up, Merle!"

"Aw now, tell it true, my young rice picker—you in yer sleepin' bag havin' some alone time with yer piece an' some Vaseline jus' imaginin' it was pretty little Amy's—"

_"Fuck you!"_ Glenn yelled, stalking towards the seated sunburned man. "You really were a grade A asshole weren't you?"

"I'm a glass half full kinda guy, Short Round." Merle laughed and his hand whipped out, grabbing Glenn's leg, pulling him down, his shoulder and head hitting the hard graveled surface of the roof with a thunk, making him see stars and knocking the wind out of him.

Merle's free hand went around his neck, throttling him and Glenn flailed against it, choking, gagging, and digging his fingers into the implacable leather tough skin on the back of Dixon's fist.

"Now I figure we're in hell, see? But _you_ ain't supposed to be here—nah uh—you a _white_ hat—so if I hitch my wagon to ya, Old Merle might just get harrowed outa here when yer guardian angel comes after ya, savvy?" he loosened his grip incrementally so Glenn could breathe and reply.

"Guardian angel?' Glenn croaked. Did he mean Rick? "Officer Friendly?"

"Nope—other one-same one's always savin' yer ass—piss-ant mother fucker who shoulda been savin' _mine."_ Merle's voice sounded furious and something else..._hurt_.

"Daryl." Glenn sighed.

* * *

"He's talkin' again, Daddy." Maggie said, removing the cool compress from Glenn's forehead.

"That's to be expected, honey. His fever spiking again." Hershel said from behind her. He was worried about both of them. His daughter was pale, shaky, she probably hadn't eaten, a combination of morning sickness and worry removing all traces of an appetite.

"Let me sit with him a spell." Hershel said gently, laying his hand on her shoulder. "You've been here all night—try and eat a little—get some rest. You're no good to him if you can't function." Maggie reached back and covered her father's hand with her own.

"I can't lose him, daddy...not like this..." she choked out, her shoulders shaking.

_"Daryl..."_ Glenn said distinctly, slitting opening his eyes and looking up at them.

"Glenn?" Maggie cried, putting her hands on his burning flushed cheeks.

_"Tell Daryl..."_

"What? Glenn, what?"

"Hurry—tell Daryl _hurry..."_ Glenn said, focusing intently on Maggie's face, but then his eyes rolled back and he went rigid, his head dropping to the pillow.

"Daddy?" Maggie looked back at her father anxiously. Glenn's body was stiff, his head thrown back, hands, fingers splayed out and his toes pointing down.

"Seizure—petit mal." Hershel told her—it was not the type with shaking or trembling, but it was serious, a symptom of his brain having trouble coping with the fever. "We need to get his temperature down now—quickly." He didn't tell Maggie that even if Glenn lived long enough to have the surgery, even if it was successful, if they didn't get this fever down he could have permanent brain damage...

"Just hang in there, Glenn..."

* * *

"Glenn?" the kindly patient male voice gently said his name again. Glenn opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred, sun dazzled, a rainbow flare blocking his view of the speaker. He saw white hair, a beard...

"Hershel?" Glenn mumbled questioningly.

"Nope. More of a fisherman than a farmer." the voice chuckled. Glen felt a subtle rocking movement in the ground below him and heard the sound of water lapping gently against wood and then a whirring whiz and a splash. Wiping his hand across his face he rubbed his eyes, looked again and then it all went watercolor blurry again as he teared up.

"You don't look so good, son." Dale said with calm concern. He was wearing his navy blue fisherman's hat, a few finely tied fly lures stuck in the brim, a white t-shirt and pale fern covered Hawaiian shirt over tan chinos.

"Not hell." Glenn said, wiping his eyes and struggling into a sitting position. They were in Dale's canoe on the lake at the Atlanta quarry camp.

"Pardon?" Dale said with amusement.

"Merle said it was hell. Can't be hell if _you're_ here." Glenn said, focusing hungrily on the man he'd missed so much.

"When did you start believing _anything_ Merle Dixon had to say?" Dale guffawed, reeling in his line slowly.

"We were back in Atlanta, on the roof—he—he was still handcuffed there..."

"Purgatory." Dale said.

_"What?"_

"Kind of a waiting room. Figure that's what this is—despite the fact the Vatican discontinued it –officially—a few years ago." he chuckled again.

"Discontinued?" Glenn said, puzzled. What he knew about organized religion could fit in a thimble, but could they just do that?

"Said it wasn't borne out by Scripture or some such nonsense." Dale mused. "Seems they were wrong." he added dryly. "_Hot_ as hell though." he said indicating Glenn's reddened dry face.

Glenn was burning up. He contemplated just slipping over the side for a nice cool swim, started leaning...

"Wouldn't do that if I were you," Dale's voice drew him back. Glenn looked up questioningly. "Look, but keep your hands inside the boat." he advised. The water was so clear Glenn could see all of the way to the bottom. The upper level, where Dale's line dangled, was populated by a myriad of colorful fish of all kinds, from trout to tropical, probably from every place the older man had ever fished.

As his gaze went deeper, to the bottom and he reeled back, horrified. Walkers. Dozens, hundreds, lurched crawled across the rocky sandy bottom. Just like down on the street in Atlanta.

"I'm proud of you, Glenn." Dale said drawing his attention back from the water. "You're still a good man, despite everything you've been through. You've grown up. Got a wife—family on the way—it's all I could've hoped for you."

Glenn blinked at Dale.

"How—how do you know all that?" most of what he'd just said had happened after...after Dale had died.

"Huh." Dale frowned and canted his head a little to the side. "Omniscience of the grateful dead, I suppose." he said with a shrug. "We're outside the flow of normal time here. Past...present...future, doesn't really matter."

"You can see the future?'

"Harder. Lotsa possible futures—all branching out from every decision we make. If you'd have left Rick in the tank, Merle wouldn't have gotten cuffed to the roof, but you'd have all died when he tried to lead the group back to camp. If Daryl had found me a few minutes faster I'd have lived a few more days, but Randall would've brought his gang of thugs back to the farm and they'd have raped and slaughtered every last one of us." He spun out the horrific scenarios so matter of factly that it took Glenn a minute to register exactly what he was saying.

"God." Glenn whispered, holding his head in his hands, trying not to let images of what Dale recounted fill his brain.

"Capricious bastard, isn't he?" Dale sighed. "Always seems to need a blood sacrifice...if Carl hadn't been shot—you'd have never met Maggie—but Otis wouldn't have died. If Ed hadn't been killed by walkers, Merle hadn't cut off his hand, Sophia hadn't gone missing...Daryl and Carol wouldn't have fallen in love..."

Glenn's head came up at that.

"Daryl and Carol?" he asked, his mouth pulling into a small smile.

"They're out looking for the stuff to save you, you know." Dale said reassuringly. "Had a little set back on the highway, but that actually turned out pretty well for _them._.." he chuckled.

"Daryl and Carol," Glenn nodded. _Finally!_ He thought with satisfaction. And then he frowned and leaned closer to Dale. "Wait...how come you know this and I don't?"

"Come on Glenn, _think _about it."

"I...I don't..." his head was swimming again, Dale's face going in and out of focus.

"You're not dead yet." Dale told him gently.

* * *

**The idea that Glenn has an out of body experience caused by his high fever appealed to me since on TWD we see other characters, (Daryl and Rick), see and have talks with missing loved ones. In the second episode of the series, "Guts" Jaqui says to Rick, after he has told the Atlanta scavenger group he was chasing a helicopter, **_**"You were chasing a hallucination, imagining things—it happens."**_** An idea later echoed by Michonne to Rick in the S3 episode, "Clear."**_** You see somethin'? I know you see things...people. I used to talk to my dead boyfriend. It happens."**_

_**Of course Dale was an important mentor for Glenn, but in an odd way Merle was also an important catalyst for growth. In Woodbury, when he threw that walker in with Glenn it forced him to reach deep, go primal; realize that he had it in him to survive no matter what happened. I remember watching that episode and being amazed at what a bad ass Glenn was!**_


	9. Chapter 9: That's God laughing

_**Glenn's fever dream Part 2.**_

* * *

_9. That's God laughing_

"Which one do you need?"

"Huh?" Glenn said, blinking. He was standing in front of Dale's RV, the grill open, the guts of the thing pulled apart, the hose that was always a pain in the ass hanging loose.

"Which screw driver do you need, Glenn?" Andrea asked him again. He looked over at her, the sun behind her creating a nimbus around the crown of her head in her artfully disheveled blonde curls, almost as if rays of light were arcing out from her—that she was glowing. Glenn squinted, stepping back. He remembered this moment too—the day after Dale had died... after the walker had torn open his belly and left him to bleed to death in agony as they'd all stood by, helpless, horrified... after Daryl had to put a bullet in his brain. Dale...he had just been with him a minutes ago—hadn't he? Floating on the calm clear waters of the quarry...

"Flathead...radiator's always a flathead." Glenn replied, repeating what Dale had told him, what he'd already said to Andrea the first time this had happened.

"Don't know why we're bothering with this." Andrea said, handing him the tool out of Dale's tool bag.

"What?" Glenn asked, surprised. That wasn't what she'd said the first time.

"We'll get it running, Jimmy will die inside it, like I almost did, like Amy did. I hate this piece of shit thing. It's all a god damn waste of time."

"What's _wrong_ with you?" Glenn asked, pushing his ball cap back off his forehead, feeling a wave of nausea—he didn't remember it having been this sweltering that day.

"Well, I'm dead. That tends to fuck up your day." Andrea said dryly.

Glenn had no come back to that, so he just turned back to working on the radiator hose, using the flathead to loosen the clamps that held it in place.

"I'm sorry, Glenn." Andrea said in a quieter, more placating tone. "For everything. For what happened to you...what happened to Maggie. I never got to tell you that." Glenn stopped what he was doing. "I _didn't_ know."

"You didn't _want_ to know." Glenn said angrily, stabbing the screwdriver through the hose so it hung there, swinging from the force he'd used to puncture it. He rounded on her, getting in her face, "You were happily playing hide the salami with that psychopath and –"Andrea burst out laughing.

_"Hide the salami_?" she exclaimed. "You been taking euphemism lessons from the Dixon brothers?"

"I think that'd be '_bumping uglies._'" Glenn observed wryly, letting his anger drain away as he watched her beautiful face, her cool blue eyes warm with humor. He realized how much he'd missed her—almost as much as he'd missed Dale. They'd been together almost from the beginning. She, Amy and Dale had come across him right after his pizza delivery car had been jacked as he was trying to use it to get out of the city, to get home to his mother and sisters.

Dale had jumped out of the RV like some avenging angel, aiming his rifle at the head of the scum bag who was wailing on Glenn while his buddies piled into the piece of crap used Subaru, Andrea honking the horn, attracting walkers from blocks around. They barely got out of there before they were surrounded; the vato who had been beating Glenn had not been so lucky.

"Did you ever wish..." Andrea began...but stopped, sighing. "When have wishes and prayers ever done anyone any good?" she muttered almost to herself, paraphrasing something she'd once heard Daryl say.

"What?" Glenn asked, leaning on the side of the RV. Andrea dropped the tool bag.

"Do you ever wish we would've just stayed in the CDC? Let the time run out?"

"No. Never." Glenn said adamantly. He thought of Maggie, Hershel, and Beth; couldn't imagine his life without them.

"Even knowing how horribly so many of us would die? Sophia, Dale, Shane, T-Dog...Lori...me?"

"You know, don't you—what's going to happen." Glenn said slowly. What had Dale called it? _Omniscience of the grateful dead? _

"I only know what _could_ happen. Some bad, some good...some horrific nightmares, some ecstatic dreamscapes..." she smiled at him. "People are amazingly resilient. They can find love even at the end of the world." She said, somehow looking sad and happy all at the same time. "You did."

Glenn ducked his head, hiding his smile, feeling guilty about his luck in having Maggie; that they had both survived everything they'd been through, the farm herd, Andrew's attack on the Prison, Woodbury, when so many of their friends had not.

"It doesn't feel fair..." he finally sighed and was surprised when she stepped into his space and put her arms around him.

"You're burning up." she said gently into his ear. "Your appendix is trying to decide when to explode and spread infection throughout your abdomen. When that happens you'll develop a massive infection. It will be agonizing and by the end you'll be begging them to put a bullet in your brain just like Dale."

Glenn staggered back from her words, a look of horror and disbelief on his face. Andrea smiled sadly and crossed her arms in front of herself and shrugged. Then an almost mischievous look brightened her features.

"Or if they can stop playing grab-ass long enough to get back on the road, Daryl and Carol will find the medical equipment in time to—'

_"Grab-ass?"_ Glenn's eyes went wide, that image so incongruous to what he knew of the way Daryl related to women that it wrested his attention away from the scenario of his painful death she'd just spun out for him, his misfiring overheated brain welcoming the change.

"Oh yeah. It's like an episode of _True Blood_ in my head right now... with a _little_ less blood...and walkers instead of vampires...they're holed up bein' sexy in a storm shelter outside Senoia—but they're surrounded and they're gonna have to fight their way out—Carol will have to save him—if she doesn't...

"Bullet in the brain time?" Glenn said, resigned, and Andrea frowned, shaking her head slightly up and down. Then she gave him a sultry smile and it was his turn to frown. "What?"

"Well, if I'd have known what a stud Daryl could be, I'd have never wasted my time on Shane and Phillip...Carol's a lucky woman...he does this thing with his tongue-"

"Ew!" Glenn blurted out, "Can we go back to talking about my imminent agonizing death? _Please_?"

"Just paying you back for all those nights they had to listen to you and Maggie groping in your sleeping bag last winter." Andrea said with a grin. The reference to sleeping bag made his brain fritz back to something Merle had said.

"I had a crush on Amy." Glenn said.

"I know..." Andrea smiled. "She thought you were cute too." they both smiled sadly as they thought of the sweet young woman whose life had been snuffed out too soon. "You would've been happy." she told him, deliberately not telling him how long they would've lived and died differently if they'd have gotten together. "Like you'll be with Maggie." she added kindly.

"I don't want to die." Glenn said, hanging his head, closing his eyes.

* * *

"None of us do. I sure as hell didn't." said a distinctive gentle male voice, its unusual timbre and pauses instantly familiar. Glenn opened his eyes and found himself back on the water, but it wasn't the clear blue of the quarry, it was black, dark as strong coffee. He was seated on a bench in a swamp boat, mangrove trees hung with draping moss overhead. He looked at the seat in front of him and saw a dead man, his clothes and skin partially covered in a light layer of leaves and green moss, his features gray, and his eyes yellow tinged with red. He looked fairly recently turned, still recognizable.

"Jim?"

"Hey Glenn. How you been?"

"Dying apparently—you?"

"Walker."

"Sucks."

"Don't it just." the dead man sighed. They heard a splash, and Glenn turned his head and saw a white flash as a svelte nude female body on the shore dived into the dark water and swam towards them.

"Is that...?" Glenn asked, thinking he recognized the girl who cut through he water with firm strokes of her arms, her feet kicking out behind her. Jim nodded.

"She swims here. They all do." he picked up a paddle. "Cept me." he smiled sadly, "I got a boat...have to watch out for the roots though..." he propelled the boat towards the swimmer.

Glenn looked down at the water and saw ripples, like the ones created by the bodies of gators passing close to the surface.

"Don't lean too close...not nice to tempt 'em." Jim admonished him and Glenn looked back over his shoulder, suddenly realizing he was in a boat with a _walker._ "Long as I'm still talkin' you're safe." Jim said, as if he could read Glenn's thoughts. Hell, the dude had always been a little spooky, maybe he _could._

"Can't. Just know what you _might_ do...say..." Jim said laconically, back paddling to steer around a large mangrove stump projecting out of the water.

"You _knew_ I was worried about you being a walker...that I was going to ask you if you could read my mind."

"You just did."

Glenn sighed. All of this metaphysical bullshit was making his head hurt again. It was stifling hot here under the canopy of oppressive weeping trees. Ignoring Jim's earlier warning he dipped his right hand in the water, wanting to draw it up to cool his head, and it was immediately snatched up by a grasping hand, the walker attached to it rising up out of the water, snarling, trying to pull him out of the boat.

Glenn screamed, pulled back, the whale gray water-swollen walker coming with him. It was every nightmare he'd ever had about the walker in the well coming true. Did this mean he was dead? Back in his bunk in the prison?

He heard a whistle and then a _chunk_ and a loud crack, like breaking open an ostrich egg with a hammer. Walker Jim, bringing the paddle down on the head of the well walker, was standing over him. He kept striking the thing until it released Glenn's hand; fell back into the water with a syrupy splash.

Breathing like he'd just run a marathon, Glenn lay on the bottom of the boat. Jim returned to his seat, to his slow paddling. They heard the slow even splashes of the swimmer.

"Tried to warn ya." Jim said in that sad tired voice. "Your choice. Stay or go."

"How is it _my _choice?" Glenn said angrily. "I didn't _ask_ for my appendix to go bad—'

"We all have the will to live, Glenn. That's what it means...when God breathed life into Adam. He gave him _the will_ to keep on going. Our choice whether we let the trials he throws in our way defeat us. What do _you_ have to live for, son?"

"Maggie...the baby...my family..."

"You got plans. You got a future with them. That tethers you to the world. When you let go...the will goes too..."

"Is that why you...why you gave up?" Glenn asked. Jim had been bit on his belly. There was no coming back from that.

"I wanted to be with my family...been tryin' to get to the other shore so's I can be with 'em." he indicated the opposite shoreline, the west, from where the swimmer had come. "But every time I get close...bring another one of you across...I'm back where I started. Another of you in my boat."

"Another of us?" a feeling of dread started in the pit of Glenn's stomach and spread up into his chest, out his arms to his fingers, tingling in terror.

"T-Dog was the last one. A pure soul. Gave his life for Carol. No terrible sins that he needed to hang around in the waiting room for very long...like you."

_"Fuck."_ Glenn whispered. Jim was the ferryman.

The splash of a head breaking the water pulled his attention back to the side of the boat. Glenn looked over the side.

"Glenn." said a calm happy young woman's voice. She pulled herself up, leaning her chin on her hands overlapping both arms on the side of the low boat. She looked like a mermaid, a Nereid, a water sprite. Her light blonde hair slicked back off of her face, china doll porcelain features subsumed to huge ice blue eyes, dark water sluicing off of her perfect moon pale shoulders.

_"Amy..." _Glenn whispered, terrified.

"It's not far now, Glenn." she said, smiling, reaching out her hand to him.

"No. I can't... I won't..." Glenn said, looking back to Jim. "Take me back—_please_—turn the boat around and _take me back!"_

* * *

"The boat?" Rick asked, standing in the doorway of the cell, looking over at Hershel. The older man had been taking a shift watching over Glenn so Maggie could get some rest, and was bathing him in an alcohol bath to try and cool him. He'd give anything for some ice right now. The boy's fever was 103°. If it didn't break soon they were going to lose him.

"Been talking up a storm," Hershel told him. Something niggled at Rick's memory—another fevered man in a bed asking him if he'd _watch the boat_...another man he'd failed to protect, to save.

"God's laughing again..." Rick murmured. Hershel's head came up at that.

"What?"

"Just something a dead man told me once." Rick said.

* * *

_**The prompt for the first part of this came from a reader comment about Glenn never getting to have closure with Andrea, so thanks, **_**horrorphile!**

_**I loved Jim's little hallucination about the boat in the mangrove swamp when he's talking to Rick in the RV in the S1 episode, "TS19." Jim had already shown some sort of prescience by dreaming about the walker attack on the camp and digging the graves, so it didn't seem too much of a stretch to imagine that he was having a vision of his upcoming ferryman duties on the border of the afterlife. I also like being able to let Amy finally get to be a sort of mermaid/siren, tempting Glenn to let go of life and join her there.**_

_**And of course I also foreshadowed what's next for Carol and Daryl...some scary jeopardy ahead.**_

_**Thanks for all of your kind reviews—they make me happy and keep me writing!**_


	10. Chapter 10: Wishin' & hopin' & prayin'

_**A little morning after action here, along with some important personal revelations for our Caryl.**_

_**A bit of calm before the storm...**_

* * *

_10. "Wishin' and hopin' and prayin'"_

A steady annoying beeping pulled Carol from the best dream she'd ever had. It'd been about Daryl—and she'd had some pretty hot dreams about the quiet tracker before, but _hell_, holy Hanna and call the Pope, this one was...

"You gonna shut that fuckin' thang off er what?" said the man in question from his place curved around her side, his face pillowed against her breasts, his arms wrapped around her, his groin pressed against her hip. She felt his mouth find her nipple, licking delicately and then sucking it in between his lips and teeth, nipping lightly and then releasing it with a pop.

"Told you I'd wake you up—didn't need to set no alarm." he growled and stretched his long muscular arm up to find the offending watch and shut it off. He settled back down beside her and nuzzled her breast again.

He thought her breasts were about the prettiest ones he'd ever seen—they were soft and rounded and he liked kissing them, touching them—the way the pale pink centers hardened and turned cherry red as he suckled, the little gasping moans she gave, the way she held his head to her, the little hitch in her hips that told him she liked it...felt it all the way to her core.

When she didn't move or speak he paused, worried he'd overstepped—were there some sort of rules about morning after stuff he didn't know? He looked up at her and saw that her eyes were tightly closed, her breathing irregular and shallow.

"Carol? Is this ok? Are you?—I mean...am I..." he asked, all clumsy diffidence.

"You really are here." she said, opening her eyes. "I was afraid if I said anything you'd vanish in a puff of smoke..."

"Like some genie or sum-thin'?" he chuckled. "You got some wish I can make come true for ya, sweetheart?" he said, his voice dropping into a low down sexy drawl.

She loved it when he called her _sweetheart_. The endearment seemed to come so easily to him, as if he'd been saying it in his head all this time, but now finally had permission to give voice to it.

"Aren't genies supposed to grant _three_ wishes?" she returned, gasping as his hands moved to cup her breasts, his thumbs softly gliding across her nipples. She felt his rising hardness against her hip and sighed.

"Might have to take a rain check on th'other two—5:00-sun's up and we need to get on the road...only got time for one. _Your_ choice..." he told her. She looked at him consideringly and then seemed to decide something. She sat up and pushed him onto his back, making him release his hold on her.

Carol let her right hand drift down to his belly, grasping his cock firmly. She smiled at his sharp intake of breath. She leaned in and kissed his shoulder, his collar bone, his lightly furred chest, finding and circling his small right nipple with her tongue, all the while stroking him lightly, her whisper light touch maddening him. He reached for her, but she raised her head and told him no, to just lie there, to keep his hands at his sides. She kept her left hand on his shoulder, reinforcing her order to stay down, hold still...

Daryl frowned—what the hell was she doing?

Carol returned to his breast, kissing his other nipple now, licking in swirling circles until it rose almost painfully erect and she sucked down hard and then lightly bit down, feeling his cock jump in her hand. Daryl whimpered, the sensation exquisite, afraid he was going to pop just from what she was doing to him right now.

"_Fuck _woman—what're ya doin' to me?" he moaned and then her other hand cupped his sac and she slid down his body, enveloping the head of his cock with her mouth in one quick motion.

Daryl sat bolt upright and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her away from him, in shock.

"You ain't got to do that...you're a _lady..."_ in his world what she had started to do for him was something that happened in back seats, a 'quick and dirty' furtive thing he'd seen girls do for Merle in exchange for a dime bag or a rock.

"It's _my _wish, isn't it?" she said, defiant now. She wanted, no _needed_ to do this. She'd hated being forced to do it for Ed—it was too intimate, too personal a thing to waste on him. It was something you did for the man you _loved._

Daryl frowned at her hard, shaking his head, not understanding.

"You really _want_ to?" he asked her, and she nodded her head yes. _"Why?" _

Carol smiled slowly and looked at him with a twinkle in her eye.

"Because you'll _love_ it..."

And he did, roaring loud enough to wake the dead when he came, humbled as she kept her mouth on him the whole time, until he finished, collapsing back, his chest heaving, still giving high pitched little whimpers as he tried to calm the hell down.

_"I think I pulled a muscle..."_ he moaned. Holy _shit _she was good at that.

Carol had a cat that ate the canary grin on her face as she cuddled in next to him, and he looked down at her, shaking his head in wonder and then he put one finger under her chin, lifting it so he could kiss her deeply, tasting his own essence, amazed again at how this little woman loved him.

* * *

"Catch!" Carol said playfully, tossing a pair of black Ray Bans she'd found in her search of the shelves in the storm shelter at Daryl who was busy packing up their gear and what they had scavenged here to load into the Hyundai. He turned and smoothly plucked them out of the air, shooting her a questioning look.

"What's this?"

"Make you look like _more_ of a bad ass." she said, eyes crinkling, cheek dimpling.

He stared at her, his right eye twitching, still not quite believing in the reality of this new facet of their relationship. She was still Carol—the best friend he'd ever been lucky enough to have—but now she was something else as well, his lover.

"_More?_" Daryl drawled, squinting and smirking as he looked over the glasses, remembering how many times she'd uttered that word last night, gasped it... _screamed_ it. He'd been more than happy to comply with her lusty demands, grew hard again just thinking about it. Shit.

He pulled the expensive shades on and they sat perfectly on his face, his dark fringe of bangs brushing over the top, his mouth set in a firm line, chin thrust out.

"My s_exy_ _ass_ bad ass," Carol said in a low purr and was rewarded with a slight blush on his high cheekbones. She grinned at him and he snorted and ducked his head, pulling off the sunglasses, from bad ass to bashful boy again.

Carol came over to him then, put her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. His arms came up around her, holding her close, awed by how natural it felt now, finding it hard to remember why he'd be so afraid of this for so long.

Then he released his hold on her and his face turned serious as he decided he needed to ask her about something that had been bothering him since last night.

"I need to ask you sum-thin'."

"What Daryl?"

"Last night...well...we didn't _use_ nothin'... you know?" he said, embarrassed, but determined. "I mean, I ain't got no diseases or nothin'..." he let his voice trail off. Carol smiled a bit sadly and took his hand.

"I'm ok too. I haven't been with anyone since...you know...and I had a test every year." A fact necessitated by Ed's serial infidelity and refusal to use condoms with his own wife. It was marital Russian roulette and she'd tried to deny him, but he was just too strong, too violent... she'd had many reasons to pray for his death.

Daryl stood there, watching the expressions play across her face, knew she was remembering her sack of shit husband, needing to tell her the rest.

"...but if there's a baby..." Daryl finally got out, "I'd be ok with that." he said hopefully. Carol's heart clenched tight. Where had this man been all her life?

"After Sophia was born...I tried to leave him." Carol said, her eyes filling with tears. She'd only ever told this story to one other person, Lori. She'd lied to the doctors, the social workers, knowing that Ed would kill her or worse, kill Sophia and force her to go on living knowing she had caused her child's death.

Daryl waited for her to continue, running his thumb soothingly over the back of her hand.

"He came home early, caught me...hurt me..." The list of injuries included the compound green-stick leg fracture, 4 broken ribs, a bruised spleen and ruptured ovary. "When I was in the hospital...after...the doctors told me I'd probably never have another child. I never got pregnant again." her breath hitched and a tear ran down her cheek. Daryl pulled her into a hug.

"I never really cared." Carol said, resting the side of her face against his chest. "I was happy not to bring another child into my hell...but I wish...now..." she looked up at him, truly wishing she could give him a child.

"Wish he was alive so's I could kill him." Daryl said, shaking, his fury at the man who'd do such a thing to any woman, let alone this one, only barely controlled.

"Thank you." Carol told him, hugging him tightly, knowing that having someone willing to kill for her would've been unthinkable in the old world, but finding only comfort in the thought now.

"We need to get goin'." Daryl told her, his voice warm, but with a hint of sadness. "Finish this run."

"Kiss me." Carol said, looking up at him, his eyes as blue as the sky on a perfect summer day...but now their all too brief vacation from reality was over. Glenn needed them.

"Your wish is my command." his mouth quirked up at the corner and he captured her lips with his own.

* * *

_**Short, but with a little tiny bit of smutty Caryl sweetness for you all!**_

_**Don't worry, I will not kill either Carol or Daryl, but things are about to go seriously south for them, so be prepared for a bit of anxiety. **_

_**Again, thanks from the bottom of my heart for your reviews!**_


	11. Chapter 11: Mockingbird

_**A new danger threatens Daryl and Carol's mission.**_

_11: Mockingbird_

"I'ma go get the car-you ready?" Daryl asked. He'd pushed the heavy workbench back away from the door and they'd carried their belongings up the stairs and piled them near the entrance for a swift departure. There was no way of knowing who or what was out there by now. They'd been in the storm shelter for eight hours, getting some rest in between his "waking" her to check her head injury.

Whether it was getting the ice pack on it so quickly or it was just the endorphins from the night's pleasant activities still giving her a natural high, Carol's head felt remarkably good this morning, clear, with just a trace of the headache she'd had. The lump was still there, but noticeably smaller, dirty crimson in the center and purpling around the edges now. She popped a couple of Ibuprophen from the shelter's first aid kit and swallowed them with the last of the thermos of tea they'd brought with them.

Breakfast was supposed to have been a quick protein bar and some dried fruit to go with it, survival rations, but they'd split one of the MREs when she'd heard his stomach growling, and he'd admitted he hadn't eaten since he'd gotten back from his hunt the day before yesterday.

* * *

He'd seen her at breakfast yesterday morning, smiling at everyone she served when they came through the line for oatmeal and applesauce, the sweet fruit a nice treat for everyone. She was acting like she hadn't a care in the world, wearing that pretty red shirt he'd brought back for her from a run he'd gone on with Maggie and Michonne a few weeks ago.

The women had been uncommonly interested in the dress shop they'd come across, pulling out a list with everyone and their mother's sizes, acting like they were in the basement of Filene's for the annual ½ off sale.

Maggie he'd expected it from, but _Michonne_? Shit, he'd about dropped his drawers when he'd come around a corner and seen both women holding brightly colored blouses up to themselves and giggling like school girls. Michonne stripped off her leather vest and tank top and shrugged on the rainbow hued v-neck sleeveless blouse, turning in a circle in front of the mirror in front of them.

"_Damn_, girl!" Maggie had said admiringly. And Michonne grinned and did a little catwalk turn, swooping up her katana to behead a dress shop dummy in the aisle beside her.

"It'll do." The dreadlocked woman said with satisfaction. Daryl tried to back away before they noticed him, but Michonne caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and brought her sword up again, relaxing immediately when he held up his hands in surrender.

"How long you been standin' there, bowman?" Michonne asked, sheathing her sword and turning away from him to pick up her other shirt and vest. When he didn't answer she turned back towards him with a sly seductive look, "See anything you like?"

Maggie swatted her on the arm and laughed at the look of pure panic on Daryl's open face.

"Be nice!" Maggie admonished cheerfully, handing her friend her backpack so she could stuff her clothes inside it. "Here Daryl." She then said, holding out a blouse to him still on the hanger.

"Not exactly my size." Daryl said dryly, not moving to take it.

"No, but it is _Carol's_." Maggie prodded, and Daryl saw that the shirt was a crimson red, which he'd noticed Carol seemed to wear a lot.

Michonne smiled knowingly, saying, "_Mmm hmmn_..." in a way that set Daryl's teeth on edge.

"Then put it in your ditty bag and let's get outa here-we got other places to hit today." He said, impatient with their antics.

"_You_ should give it to her." Maggie persisted.

_Just because she was a newlywed and freakin' blissfully happy meant she was trying' to make the entire world follow in her footsteps_, Daryl groused to himself.

"Women like getting gifts. Makes them feel special." Michonne intoned in that soft no nonsense tone she employed when she thought someone was being stubborn or stupid or both. He'd often heard her use it on Carl or one of the other kids...didn't appreciate her using it on him.

"Fine. You give it to her then." Daryl said, keeping his tone even, refusing to rise to the women's bait.

"It'd mean more coming from you." Maggie said, pulling the blouse off of the hanger and holding it out to him, raising her eyebrow at him, pushing him. "You've know her longer." She added, trying to make it sound simply logical that he be the one to present her with it.

In the end he'd agreed, if only to get them moving, out of the dress shop, vowing to steer clear of any future runs that came within a ten block radius of any kind of lady store.

He'd gone to Carol and Beth's room, hoping to quietly leave the red blouse on her bunk and slip away, but she'd been there, sitting on her bunk sewing and singing softly as she rocked Judith's cradle with her foot.

_"Hush little baby, don't say a word, papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird...if that mockingbird won't sing, papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring..."_

Daryl just stood there and stared. She was...she was everything.

Carol's head came up; noticing the shadow that fell on Judith, saw Daryl standing in the doorway. She smiled.

"So you made it through your run without strangling Maggie, I saw." She been on watch when they'd rolled in earlier that morning, volunteering when she knew they'd be back at that time. She was always there when he came back, when he left, just making sure, just her way of knocking wood, their simple words of departure and greeting now a mantra, always the same, _"Stay safe; Nine lives"_ and _"Glad you're back."_

Daryl had grunted in response, not needing to go into detail about his forbearance with the girl.

"Here" He'd said, handing her the plastic sack containing the blouse in a big Ziploc bag. He hadn't wanted it to get wet or dirty in his saddle bags in the bike, so he'd used one of the medical supply bags.

She'd looked at him quizzically, her foot on the cradle stopping as she took it from him. As soon as the soothing motion stopped however, Judith had started crying and Carol had set down the bag on her bed and turned back to the baby. When she'd looked up again, Daryl was gone.

He thought she must've liked it. She wore it to dinner that night, smiling like a queen, sort of dignified and serene, when people complimented her on it, and then looked across the room at him, to where Rick was bending his ear about something, making sure she caught his eye and mouthing, _"Thank you."_

He responded with a barely perceptible head bob, his face heating, and he'd turned back to Rick, trying to recapture the tendrils of what the man was saying, but his head was too full of her.

Yesterday at breakfast he'd watched her be sweet and friendly to everyone, beautiful in the red that warmed her pale features, hugged her curves, but when she'd noticed him in the doorway her mouth had turned down, and then set in a firm line, avoiding his eyes as she continued to serve.

He'd turned on his heel and left, unwilling endure the stares of their friends when she publically snubbed him. He'd stayed away at lunch too, despite the fact that she was cooking his favorite, the tender deer chops, choicest cut from the doe he'd brought in the night before. It was like she was deliberately mocking him, using his gifts to hurt him.

What a difference a day makes.

* * *

"Just a crack, let me see what's out there, ok?" Daryl cautioned as they stood at the top of the storm shelter stairs. He could hear something, some movement outside-scratching perhaps-and stood poised with his bow as Carol put her left hand on the door knob, her right holding Carl's pistol with its long silencer up, ready to use it to back him up. The door opened out and she turned the knob and pushed, creating a one inch space between it and the frame.

Daryl looked out, up, down, saw nothing but sky and ground. He looked back at her and nodded and she continued to push on the creaking door incrementally until it was all of the way open. He turned back to her, about to pronounce it safe when they both heard a growl, a gnashing of teeth and something launched itself at him. Daryl stumbled, caught off guard, the thing too close for his bow so he dropped it, his hand going for his buck knife, but as he staggered against the weight of it, his foot slipped and he tumbled down the concrete steps, back into the cellar.

Carol slammed the door shut behind her and yelling his name splashed the flashlight beam down the staircase where he struggled with the..._wolf?_ It was either a large dog or a wolf, growling and whining now, its jaws snapping as they tried to find a place to connect on his body.

Daryl had his right arm up, keeping it from getting to his throat, trying to get to his knife with his left. Carol ran down the stairs, hesitating before she fired, not wanting to hit Daryl, but when she saw it sink its teeth into his shoulder and he roared in pain she screamed and threw her body on its head. When it released his arm and went for her she put a bullet point blank in its brain.

Crying, terrified for him, she pushed the thing's body off of him and knelt by his side.

"Daryl-oh god _Daryl_? Are you ok?

"Walker...bit..." he moaned, his eyes horrified. He'd been bit on the shoulder, knew what that meant. Knew he'd never have another day with her; another night... He reached for the gun she still held in her hand, not wanting her to have to do it. She pulled the gun away from him, panicked, tossing it across the room to keep it from him.

"_No_-Daryl-_stop!_ No-it was a _wolf_-or some big ass dog, _not a walker."_

"Wolf?" he asked, not believing her.

"Here, _look!"_ she implored him, moving to the dog, rolling it over so he could see its ugly furred head, half blown away by her shot. Now that she looked closer she could see that it was a big shaggy Rottweiler cross, massive head and jaws, powerful shoulders, almost like a bear, weighing at least 100 pounds. She thought it would have been thin, starving, but then her stomach lurched as she realized what it had to have been feeding on. There were plenty of the dead upon which to feast. So why had it attacked? Was it diseased? Rabid? She gingerly felt around its neck for a collar, tags.

"What're ya doin'?" Daryl panted, obviously in pain.

"I need to check..." and then she found the tags, pulled them up; a metal one, shaped like a dog bone proclaimed his name, a very unoriginal "Rover" and a second round one for the rabies vaccine, good until 2014. "Oh thank god." she sighed. She played the flashlight beam over its scarred and dirty body. It had gone feral, probably after being abandoned, gotten used to fighting. Or who knows, maybe _this _had been its home and it was simply defending its territory.

"Carol?" Daryl said, his voice weak. "I'm bleeding here."

"Shit!" she exclaimed and moved swiftly to his side, kneeling and examining his wound. The powerful jaws had bitten through his vest and shirt, ripping them and tearing a chunk out of the meat at the point of his shoulder. It was bleeding freely, soaking into the fabric of his shirt, but not the pumping spurts of an artery-it hadn't hit any major blood vessels. She pulled her scarf from around her neck and wadded it up to apply direct pressure.

"Can you hold this in place?" she asked him and he lifted his left hand, replacing hers. She moved her hands down his body, examining him carefully. "Where else does it hurt?" she asked him.

"Yer not gonna like it." He said quietly.

"What-why-what's wrong?"

"I think my leg's broke." He told her and she looked down.

"Which one?" she asked, as gently as possible running her hands down his thighs, to his knees and then giving a little cry as she saw the odd angle of his left leg above his motorcycle boot.

"I'm sorry, this is gonna hurt." She told him. "But I have to get the boot off before it swells anymore."

"Just get it done." He grimaced, closing his eyes and pressing down harder on his shoulder, fighting a greater pain with a lesser. Carol tugged the boot off and then took out her knife and slit his dungaree leg up the side so she could get a look at the break, rolling the material back and away.

"You ever wonder why animals don't turn?" she said, trying to distract him from her examination.

"At this moment I'm sure as _shit _glad they _don't!_" he bit out, gritting his teeth against the agony even her gentle touch was causing him.

"Whatever vector this thing was on, it seems like it was specifically targeted for humans, you know?" she mused. That had been Ed's theory anyway. A closet survivalist, he'd subscribed to all sorts of doomsday websites and conspiracy theories, stocking up on supplies and planning escape routes. When the first reports had come in, before the web had crashed, he'd stay up all night messaging with his fellows, speculating on the origins and design of the walker plague.

"Targeted?" he said, curious now. "You think this thing was man made?" Daryl hadn't really considered that seriously...couldn't imagine anyone evil enough to have brought this down on humanity on purpose. Lab accident, experiment gone wrong, maybe, but to deliberately unleash this on the population? Couldn't be a punishment in hell sick enough for them.

"I'm going to have to set this. We're lucky it didn't break the skin, but if you're going to have full use of it when it heals, I have to put the bones back in place." _And hope for the best..._she thought to herself. What he needed was an x-ray and an osteopath, but it wasn't like they could just stroll into an ER these days.

"Whatever you say, Doc." He told her, feeling light headed. She glanced up at him sharply. He was pale and his eyes were out of focus.

"Daryl! Does it hurt anywhere else?" Damn it-he could be bleeding internally-she hadn't even thought. He'd fallen down a cement staircase. She palpated his belly searching for any hardness or pain. He giggled and batted her hand away with his left hand, bloody from holding the cloth to his shoulder.

"Tickles-stop..." he giggled, sounding out of it. She leaned up and felt his head for bumps-_fuck_. A lump was rapidly rising on the back of his head. He might just get to enjoy a pukey concussion after all. She went over her triage training in her head-_if it bleeds it leads_-no that was her junior college journalism class-what the hell, Carol! She made him put his hand back on the scarf and hold it down.

"All right-first I need to see to that bite." She decided, knowing it needed to be cleaned and bandaged to prevent infection.

"I got bit?" he asked, panicked again, grabbing at his shoulder.

"Daryl!" Carol said sharply, her breath catching at how frightened he looked. She went to him, taking his face in her hands, "It was a dog, remember? Just a big...poxy bastard of a dog!" she indicated the carcass of the animal still lying nearby and he looked at it and then slowly nodded at her, processing what she was saying. She leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to his brow. He grabbed her arm with his bloody hand and looked at her searchingly.

"You saved me." He told her. "Not just now...not just this..." he added, pulling her to him and kissing her. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, putting all her love for him into her response.

"Stay still-I'll be right back." She told him, moving to retrieve the gun and then she ran back up the stairs, leaning against the door to listen. She hear snuffling and scratching noises, and then what sounded like two dogs fighting, mixing it up and then lots of growling and barking. Her head slumped against the door. There was a pack.

She took a deep breath, gathering herself and then checked the door lock and threw the bolt. Grabbing the med kit, she ran back down to him, careful on the steep stairs. Wondering how she was going to get him back up to the top, wondering how she was going to get out to retrieve the car, wondering how long Glenn had.

_**Well, there you have it, dearies! **_

_**I wanted a unique threat that we hadn't seen before on the show to cause all sorts of problems for our intrepid heroes. They have shown roving packs of dogs a couple of times eating (or being eaten by) walkers in the opening sequences, so it seemed plausible to me.**_

_**When the new Season 4 poster came out and we saw Michonne on her horse, knowing I had pets and grew up on a farm, a friend had asked me the same question Carol posed to Daryl here, why don't animals turn? Any theories?**_

_**Oh, and the name of the dog in the familiar children's song Carol sings to Judith, "Hush Little Baby," in this chapter:**_

"And if that cart and bull turn over,  
Papa's gonna buy you a dog named **Rover.  
**  
And if that dog named Rover won't bark.  
Papa's gonna to buy you and horse and cart."


	12. Chapter 12: Breathing Lessons

_**Flashback, the winter on the road, pre-Prison; how Carol became "a pretty good shot." **_

_12. Breathing Lessons_

"He cares about you, you know."

"Did he ask you to come talk to me?"

"No. You know he'd rather walk on hot coals barefoot than talk about his feelings."

"Then why are you here?"

"I don't like seeing you like this...you're not eating...you need to keep your strength up. We can't afford any weak links." So that's what this was really about. Her being a burden.

"I've been pulling my own weight." Carol said, knowing that the food preparation, laundry, and other domestic duties were what kept them all going, whether Rick chose to acknowledge it or not. And he also needed her to 'manage' Lori for him. Their relationship had steadily declined after leaving the farm four months ago to the point where it was practically non-existent.

"I'm giving Beth and Lori more shooting lessons tomorrow." Rick said. "You need to be there too."

"Is that an order?"

"Do I have to make it one?" he said quietly, but with an edge. "Look, none of us can afford to ignore learning how to protect ourselves...protect the group. He may not always be around to save you."

Carol's head went back as if Rick had slapped her. It was true, but it was cruel. She seethed at him silently.

"And do _whatever_ you need to do to get him back in the fold." Rick advised. "When you get pissy with each other he stays out on hunts too long. We need him _here._"

"What are you suggesting?" Carol said coldly. Rick laughed then, a genuine sound of mirth and Carol frowned and tilted her head at him.

"If I thought sex would help, I'd tell you to go for it-but knowing Daryl that'd probably send him running for the hills even faster." He said dryly, drawing a reluctant smile from Carol. Rick reached out and put his hand on Carol's arm. "Just be _nicer _to him, Carol. Baby him a little. Daryl's a lot like Carl; hard on the outside, soft on the inside...he's still a little kid in so many ways." Carol looked consideringly at Rick.

"You care about him too." She said, her anger at his highhandedness abating somewhat. Rick didn't say anything, looked uncomfortable, looked down at the ground. After a long pause he looked back up at her, his eyes brimming with tears.

"I care about _all _of you. _You're my family_." He gave her arm a squeeze and released it, wiping his hand across his mouth and stalking away.

* * *

She'd started learning to shoot the next day, wishing Dale had been there to see her, remembering how he'd offered her his hunting rifle to keep watch that second night in the highway.

Guns were Ed's thing. She'd hated them, hated having them in their house where Sophia might accidentally come across them, hurt herself or hurt someone else. After she'd complained, Ed kept them locked away in a special gun safe he'd purchased. She didn't know the combination. If she had, when he'd started to look at their daughter in a new way, a wrong way, she might've gotten brave enough to open it, take one out. Use it.

Learning to wield a firearm was something she didn't take lightly. She appreciated the fact that Rick taught them how to break down and clean the weapons first, before they tried firing them, explaining how they functioned, what could go wrong with them.

Carol liked the methodical approach to things; it was how she learned best. It's why she enjoyed sewing: the preparation for making or repairing a garment meant careful study of it first, the pattern, the cloth chosen, making sure the bias or warp and weft were utilized to best create strong and sturdy garment. Measure twice, cut once...

She had been trying to apply the same principles to her relationship with Daryl, with a bit less success as of late. She knew he was frustrated with her, but wasn't quite sure why. Their life on the road was so fragmented now-with no base, no place of shelter and safety, so Carol had been trying to _make_ that, _be_ that in the things she did for everyone. She spent a tremendous amount of time with Beth, Carl and Lori, each of them having problems coming to grips with the fallout from the last days at the farm.

Beth had lost half of her support system. Patricia had been like a mother to her and Jimmy was her first love. Maggie tried, but she was still in the blush of her own first love, Glenn her most important concern. Hershel was willing, but there were just some things a girl couldn't tell her daddy, so it fell to Carol to mother the young woman.

Carl was angry and bewildered about why his father had felt it necessary to kill Shane, a man who had become a surrogate father to him. No one wanted to explain to the boy the situation with the messy triangle created when they'd thought Rick dead, so the boy blamed himself for the estrangement between his parents, somehow believing the only reason they were apart was that his mother hated his father for making it necessary for Carl to put down Shane after he turned.

Carol did her best to engage him in lessons, scavenging a few schoolbooks here and there, hoping to get his mind on something else, but all he wanted to do was target practice. He became deadly with his small gun, outfitted with a long silencer that Rick had found secreted under a mattress in one of the houses they'd briefly sheltered in. Carol hadn't wanted to speculate on why it'd been there.

Lori...well, Lori needed her most now she supposed, but it took every last bit of will she had to not lose her temper with the woman's constant need to _talk._ The only time they spent together when the pregnant woman was silent took place during the Lamaze coaching training that Hershel was giving them a couple of times a week. Slowly breathing in, out, centering, calming, Carol needed it as much as Lori these days with the constant running, the constant fear.

Carol enjoyed silence—she'd hated the noises of everyday life in the city, wished they could've lived in the country, on a farm site, where she could wake up in the wide open spaces to crickets and not sirens or jets booming overhead. She'd loved it at the Green farm, mourned its loss almost as much as a person...well, not nearly so much... The loss of Andrea weighed heavily on her. She'd believed Andrea had died saving her. Carol never wanted to feel that helpless again.

The person who'd lost most when Carol had assumed the unofficial mantle as matriarch had been Daryl. No longer could she devote so much of her time and attention to him as she had done at the farm. She could feel the frustration coming off him in waves at times. He hovered when he delivered the game he'd bring back from his hunts, teaching her the best way to skin a rabbit, a squirrel, slickly pulling off their skins like tight little t-shirts, using old coat hangers to stretch them and dry them, telling her when they'd saved enough maybe she could make a soft fur blanket for the baby.

He saw how exhausted she looked every night, how thin she had grown and had blown up at Lori, Maggie and Beth, asking why it was always Carol who started laundry, the meals, sorted through what they scavenged. He'd been trying to protect her, help her, but instead he had embarrassed her, shamed her, made her think she was too weak to contribute her share...a burden.

* * *

She got good with the small 9mm pistol that Rick had started her on, but they also needed another sharpshooter, again the loss of Andrea was brought home to her. He'd taken her aside and asked if she'd be willing to learn a bigger gun and she'd readily said yes, agreeing to meet that night after supper for more instruction. But when she'd shown up, it wasn't Rick who was waiting to teach her.

Daryl sat perched, cross legged on one of the wooden tables of the picnic shelter at the base of the campground they'd been staying at for the last two days. It was at the edge of a lake, a truly beautiful spot near Stone Mountain, the peak rising behind him as he faced her.

The fence around the grounds was meant more for show than protection and already any build up of more than 5 or 6 walkers had to be prevented because of the danger of them pushing through, but they'd all become adept at slamming sharp edged implements through the wire punching through eye sockets and ears to take down the persistent ones. Glenn had found mountain climbing equipment in one of the garages and they learned to use the large carabineers to secure gates and fences.

In front of Daryl, laid out on the table like some strange feast, were six long guns, one she recognized as Dale's, with a wooden stock and scope. The other five they'd acquired in part through their scavenges, 2 open stock rifles, a 22 and two shot guns, one the black Mossberg 590 that Shane had been fond of using.

"Is this a test?" she asked him and he smirked and gestured wide, indicating she should choose a weapon from those assembled. She approached the table, her hands itching for Dale's gun, but pausing in front of the 22. It was a smaller gun, easier for her to handle as a training weapon, perhaps. Carol reached down and picked up the small rifle, feeling its weight, making sure the safety was on, and held it out to him.

"You sure?" Daryl asked before he took it from her, tilting his head to the right and squinting that eye. She nodded. "Why?" he asked and so she explained to him her thought process. "Well, alright then." He said and nodded approvingly, handing it back to her. "Break it down." And then he made her take the gun apart and put it back together four times.

"Rick only made us do this _three_ times," she muttered as she pulled the thing apart again.

"You givin' me lip, woman?" he rounded on her, standing behind her with his arms crossed over his chest. Carol smirked, privately enjoying the double entendre her tired brain had given his turn of phrase.

"_No sir_, no _lip_ sir." she said, her smile making her duck her head closer to the gun as she worked. She heard his harrumph behind her.

"Finish up and we should get back—losin' the light." he told her, moving to gather up the other guns and put them in the gun bag. She slammed the last piece into place, and stood, holding the weapon out in front of her horizontally.

"Done." she announced and he looked surprised, turning back to her. He took the weapon from her and swiftly checked it. It was perfect. He grinned, looking up at her. She quirked him an eyebrow. He snorted and handed it back to her.

"Same time tomorrow." he said, picked up the gun bag and started back up the hill to the cement bunker–like restroom and shower block, the most defensible place they'd found here. She hesitated, looking down at the gun, feeling its weight again. She heard a short two burst whistle call—_heads up_—and saw he was standing, looking back at her.

"C'mon—ain't got all night." he said, sounding put upon, but a smile played around his mouth. She ran and caught up with him and they walked in companionable silence back up the hill.

Rick watched them walking up the hill, hoping he'd done the right thing in asking Daryl to train Carol. It had meant also having a talk with Glenn and Maggie about helping more with Beth and Lori so Carol could have to free time to do this, but he thought it was worth it. Rick had made the argument that T was good with a handgun, but Daryl was the best with a rifle, so he would be the best choice to work with whichever of the women showed the most promise. Surprisingly that had been Carol.

* * *

"Rick talk to you 'bout breath control?" Daryl asked two nights later. It was the first chance they'd had to meet up for another lesson. Beth had a bad scare while out on a run with Maggie, Glenn and T-Dog and so Carol had to sit with her, rocking her as she sobbed, when she refused to be comforted by either Maggie or her father.

"A little. He told us if we breathe wrong it'll bump our aim off, so I just held my breath the whole time I was firing." she admitted. Daryl chuckled.

"It's little more Zen that that actually. You _breathe with purpose_, it helps you aim true." he said, sounding like a monk who had somehow wandered down off his mountain and gotten lost in the wilds of southern Georgia.

" What?" She frowned and looked back at him. He came up behind her close enough that she could feel his body heat at her back.

"Put your gun up, like you're ready to shoot." he told her quietly. He put one hand on her back. "Now breathe." he said, and she took a deep breath, puffing out her chest and releasing it. "Naw," he admonished, reaching his other hand around and placing it on her abdomen. "Yer not a puffer fish-you should breathe from here—your belly, like...like an opera singer."

Daryl felt the laugh she was holding back make her abs quake—yeah, what the fuck did he know about opera singers? Well, he knew they knew how to breathe right to hit those high notes, didn't they?

"Just_ breathe_, damn it." he said, sounding impatient. Felt her intake of breath under his hand, felt how thin she was, as her abs sucked in with it. "Now out...and gently pull the trigger."

Carol bumped back against him with the kick back from the small rifle, heard his surprised intake of breath as his hand inadvertently briefly slid up to brush the underside of her breast, felt his hard on against her ass as she was pushed back against him.

Daryl released her like a hot potato and took two quick steps back, almost stumbling. Carol froze, knew he'd be as embarrassed as hell, took a deep breath and then without looking back, walked out to check the target, sliding the safety into place and shouldering her weapon.

She'd shot a bulls-eye, dead center.

* * *

"Daryl, go back to the other tower. Carol—you've become a pretty good shot, take your time, we don't have a lot of ammo to waste." Rick continued to spin out orders for the group as they prepared to take the prison yard. She'd graduated from the 22 last week to one of the black open work rifles, an AKMS, and the higher caliber meant she could shoot farther and even more accurately, but she was still having a hard time with the kick back.

They'd taken the yard easily and their confidence had soared. Carol had a minor problem judging distance, shooting into the sun, and the first round she'd fired and had accidentally puffed out right at Rick's feet as he ran for the inside fence. She yelled an apology and continued to fire, Daryl beside her letting his bolts fly.

"Fantastic!" she yelled jubilantly as they met up with the others at the base of the tower.

"Nice shootin'" Daryl praised her and she'd been exultant, her spirits higher than they'd been in weeks. She'd flirted with Daryl on the bus, his choice to rub her shoulder reminding her of her rifle lesson, another of the very few times he'd chosen to put his hands on her of his own volition. They'd never spoken of that incident; it was as if it had never happened...except it _had_. She'd felt his body respond to her... had that to hold onto even when he was owly and distant. He'd responded to her as a woman_, _not just as a sister or friend or fellow survivor, but as a _woman._

* * *

Carol looked over at the body of the monstrous canine that had attacked Daryl, looked down at the gun she held, looked over at him, watching her so intently.

"Nice shootin'" he said, smiling through a wince. She'd just finished setting his leg, giving him a piece of wood broken off one of the chairs in the shelter to bite down on. He'd passed out briefly and she'd quickly splinted it and then started to stitch the bite closed. He woken up in the middle of that, the pain pulling him up from under, but he'd just put the wood back in his mouth, took a deep breath and nodded at her to finish, gutting it out. God, she loved this man.

"My breath had _purpose._.." she smiled back.

"Damn right it did _– to kill_ that big sum'bitch." He snorted.

They both sighed as they looked at the body of the dog again.

"I'm sorry." he said softly.

"For what? None of this is your fault."

"Why aren't you givin' me another Debbie Downer rant like before?" he asked her with a frown. When she'd been injured much less seriously than this, she'd been almost ready to give up. Carol inhaled deeply, breathing deliberately, centering herself.

"Because I have an idea on how to get us out of this; I just have to figure out how to attract the dead and still keep us breathing..."

_**That's our clever Carol! **_

_**I had to do a bit of Wiki research on the weapons used in the show to try to get all this firearms talk right. If you see any glaring errors, please let me know.**_

**And yes, **_**"having a hard time with the kick back."**_**was**** a double entendre pun...**


	13. Chapter 13: Serendipity

_**Glenn's fever dream part 3 and then some...**_

_13. Serendipity_

"Tag, you're it." the high quiet childish voice startled Glenn. He opened his eyes and looked down into the serious face of Sophia Peletier. He looked around and realized he was standing at the edge of the Atlanta camp, near the low fence of tin cans that Jim had placed there as an unfortunately useless warning system for walkers or other intruders. He could see Dale's Winnebago in the distance, a lone indistinct figure sitting atop it under the striped umbrella keeping watch. Why was he back here?

"Sophia?" now Glenn was confused-hadn't Jim said the good ones, the innocent ones passed through without time here in Limbo?

"I killed my daddy." She said, not with sadness exactly, but with resignation, monotone, answering his unspoken question. He wished people would stop doing that; it creeped him the hell out.

"I don't think so honey-your dad died in the walker attack on the camp..." Glenn said gently. She shook her head at him solemnly and held out her hand. Glenn looked down at the small grubby hand, noticing what looked like blood under the finger nails and a shiver went through him. She tilted her head at him and made an impatient gesture with the extended paw.

"Come on. Show you." She said in that same odd singsong monotone.

Glenn slipped his hand into her small cold one. Either it was very cold or he was very hot. He felt his own scalding cheek, he was still burning up. Sophia led him through the tents at the edge of the encampment and he slowed as he saw the young Hispanic couple, the Garcias, both of whom had perished in the herd's rampage. He saw Jim, bound to a tree, speaking to Lori who was crouched in front of him.

"Almost there." Sophia said, tugging on his hand. He found himself in a clearing, at the center of which there was a picnic table. Carol stood to one side watching Carl and Shane clean the fish that Amy and Andrea had brought back from the quarry, the fish that they'd all be enjoying around the fire, no one on watch, later that night. He stepped forward, wanting to warn them, tell them to be prepared, but Sophia stopped him.

"I'm here, but you're _not._ You're in Atlanta with Mr. Rick and Mr. Daryl and Mr. T-Dog-you went after that son of a bitch drug dealer Merle." Glenn's eyes widened and she giggled, "That's what Mr. Shane called him."

"You shouldn't-"

"I'm dead-I can swear if'n I want to." She said defiantly.

Glenn had to give her that one.

"You're just supposed to watch now." She told him, releasing his hand and walking over to her mother.

"Did you find her?" Carol asked, looking down at her daughter fondly, pushing her strawberry blond hair behind her ears. Glenn had forgotten that-how Carol was always touching her child; a hand to her back guiding her as they moved through camp, the girl leaning against her as they sat across the campfire from the brutish man who'd ruled over their lives with a fist and a glowing Marlboro.

Sophia shook her head no, her big blue eyes looking bereft.

"I'm sure she'll turn up, honey." Carol soothed.

"She lose somethin'?" Shane asked, pausing in showing Carl how to punch the knife gently under the skin of the small sunfish at its anal opening and then draw it forward, slicing cleanly so he could remove the internal organs.

"Her last doll," Carol said, frowning.

"My Barbie this time," Sophia said sadly, as if it wasn't the first time one of her toys had gone missing. She'd thought she'd left it at the Grimes' campsite and had run quickly back to check, Carol keeping her eyes on her the whole time.

"We'll have to mount an all points bulletin." Shane said seriously, but smiling kindly at Carol and the child. Glenn had forgotten that too...how good the deputy had been with kids...patient, careful. "Can't have her out wandering the woods alone-not safe." Glenn's heart hurt, knowing what was to come.

"Are there Barbie _walkers_, Mr. Shane?" she said fearfully, putting her hand to her mouth, obviously wondering if that's what had happened to her dolls. Carol and Shane exchanged a look that said they wished that such questions would never occur to a child.

"If there are_ I'll_ take care of 'em for ya, Sophia!" Carl piped up stoutly, waving his bloody knife for emphasis, bits of fish entrails flinging off of it onto the surface of the table.

"Hey Carl-now you be careful with that knife, there son-don't want to _stick_ no body." Shane admonished, foreshadowing his own death.

Glenn looked down at the line of little half gutted fish corpses, remembering the line of graves that Jim had dug that morning, which they would have use for tomorrow. How Daryl had methodically put his pick axe through the skulls of the dead, how Carol would use it on Ed's barely recognizable body.

"Can I try that?" Sophia asked timidly, pointing at the knife.

"Sophia, no-I don't want you to cut yourself, sweetie." Carol demurred, putting her arms around the girl.

"Be good for her to learn knife safety, Carol - we should all probably carry one." Shane said; his tone gentle but no nonsense. Carol looked at him reproachfully, shaking her head no.

"You can help me rips the guts outa 'em, Sophia!" Carl said in that blood thirsty way of 12 year old boys, brandishing a handful of pinks and reds and yellows that oozed out from his grip.

_"Ewww!"_ Sophia said delightedly. "Can I mom? _Pleeeeze!"_ Carol's face screwed up in disgust, but finally agreed, nodding her head.

Glenn watched as they applied themselves to the task at hand, finishing the rest of the fish quickly. Shane boned and filleted them as they rolled off the gutting production line; Carl slicing, Sophia ripping and dumping her gory bounty into the metal pail at their feet which was almost full.

"Are you done, Carl?" Lori said, standing with her arms crossed in front of her at the edge of the clearing. She avoided Shane's eyes, but he wasn't having that and marched over to her, trying to engage her in conversation. Carol watched them with concern.

"I'll take Carl back with me so they can get washed up, ok?" Carol called to her friend.

"We need to bury those entrails." Shane said, sounding distracted, looking back at her, clearly preoccupied with the woman in front of him.

"We can do it; right Sophia?" Carl said, wanting to show that he was responsible, prove himself to them all, impress the little friend he had made. Sophia nodded, looking up at her mother for confirmation. Carol nodded. Sophia grabbed the bucket of guts and Carol the Tupperware container of fillets while Carl held his knife out protectively.

"Go on then-we'll catch you up later." Shane said, answering before Lori could speak. Carol's instinct for knowing when to make an exit propelled her and the children away.

"You should follow us now." Sophia whispered as she passed close to Glenn, whose attention had been drawn by the argument Shane and Lori seemed to be starting. He frowned but did as she asked, trailing after the three as they moved towards the Peletier tent. Carol unzipped the flap, Sophia and Carl standing behind her.

"Where the hell you _been_? Git in here now; know what's good fer ya." the deep cigarette and whiskey scraped growling drawl of Ed Peletier cut through the afternoon stillness. Sophia dropped the pail in fear and the oozing bloody pudding of tiny livers, kidneys, intestines and hearts spilled out onto the ground in front of the tent.

Carol looked back at Carl and whispered, quickly,

"Carl-you go now-take these fish over to Amy and Andrea, ok?" Carl hesitated, his protective instincts telling him his friend's father wasn't right-wasn't like a daddy should be-like his father was, like good fathers were. But he also saw the look of pleading shame in Carol's eyes and knew if he stayed it might cause more trouble. He nodded and with a silent look of apology to Sophia, took the container of fish and headed for the big RV.

Then the lights went out. It was night; he could smell the sweet wood smoke campfires, the faint fishy odor of the fish fry, heard quiet laughter as Dale told his story about the impermanence of time. Glenn was still standing in front of the same tent, a low light burning inside.

A female walker, her long wavy greasy blonde hair hanging over her distorted features, came out of the woods behind the tent and stopped, lifting its head; catching the whiff of something interesting. It shuffled forward, remarkably quiet, and he scrambled back out of its way. It homed in on the overturned pail near the entrance, partially hidden by a large lawn chair complete with cup holder and sunshade, knocking over the chair in its lust to grab the bucket of bloody treats.

Two, then three more walkers paraded out of the trees as Glenn heard Ed shout angrily from inside the tent, saw his shadow rise and move to unzip the entrance, and then saw the look of total shock when instead of his mousey wife or daughter, the golden tressed walker grabbed him and sunk her teeth into his neck, the other geeks piranhaing in on the feast he provided.

"See? I killed him. I forgot about the guts." Sophia said quietly, appearing beside him just as Amy's screams began.

* * *

"Serendipity." Jacqui pronounced carefully in her elegant tones. Glenn was in a white room. White floors, white walls, white ceiling, white furniture. Dressed all in white, sitting behind the white desk in front of him, was the lovely African American woman with the burnished ebony skin he'd last seen at the CDC, calmly facing down the electronic clock counting down the seconds of her life.

"_Serendipity?"_ Glenn asked, looking about the featureless room.

"An aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident." Jacqui smiled, "A very particular talent. One which _you_ possess, as do many of the people in our little band of survivors."

"Where is this?" It was the first place his fever had brought him that he didn't recognize, hadn't been before.

"This is a clean room."

"At the CDC?" Glenn asked and she nodded.

"And more." she added, pushing a button. In front of them the white wall came to life, showing the same scene he'd just left, muted. He saw himself arrive back at camp with Rick, T and Daryl, saw the mayhem as they battled the walkers, watched Amy go down, Morales swinging his baseball bat, connecting with a walker's head...

"So do you know the rules?" he asked her, tearing his eyes from the screen.

"Rules?"

"Jim said T didn't have to wait-because he was a pure soul-but Dale, Sophia..." Glenn didn't understand why they were still on this side, not on the other shore.

"Dale killed his wife." Jacqui said calmly. Glenn reeled back, his mouth falling open.

"She died from cancer!" he almost shouted.

"She was in terrible pain." She nodded sadly. "They had a plan...one last toast. He mixed the rest of her pain pills in her wine."

"Mercy killing..." Glenn murmured, remembering how Dale had raised his head up, into the barrel of Daryl's gun, silently telling him he understood, he wanted it, he wanted the suffering to end, asking for mercy.

"It's still murder..." Jacqui said, and Glenn didn't feel like debating with her even though the world had changed so much as to render some former ethical considerations moot.

"And Sophia? She didn't deliberately bait the walkers to murder her own father!"

"But she _believes_ she did. Remember what Jim told you?"

"The will..." Glenn murmured and Jacqui nodded.

"Andrea committed suicide." Glenn nodding, thinking he understood.

"As did I...but what she can't forgive_ herself_ for is that she failed to act against evil."

"The _Governor._" Glenn said as if he was uttering the foulest curse he could imagine. The screen changed to Andrea, nude, standing over Blake with her knife to his throat as he slept and then morphed to a scene of her aiming a gun at him from a vent in a room above his torture chamber.

"Serendipity put her in his orbit; when she learned what he was, what he had done, she could have ended him...but she didn't." The screen shifted again to that same torture room, Milton lying dead on the floor in a pool of blood; Rick, Daryl and Michonne surrounding Andrea, who sat on the floor, the telling bloody bite on her shoulder.

_"I just didn't want anyone to die."_ Andrea said sadly, looking up at Rick, Daryl and finally resting her gaze on Michonne, who was quietly weeping.

"The ability to see and grasp the chance for something better, something that can save you or even save the ones you love, when others can't: _Serendipity_." Jacqui said, and the scene shifted again, this time to Carol and Daryl, sitting in a darkened small space, a Coleman lantern illuminating their faces.

"What-_when's _this?" Glenn said, moving closer to the screen.

"Now." Jacqui smile that wise secretive smile she had, her eyes crinkling up above her high cheekbones, "Watch."

* * *

"Ok-you have to promise me you'll hear the whole plan before you tell me it's insane or impossible or-" Carol said all in a rush as she wrenched a cold pack back and forth, activating the cooling chemical ice.

Daryl was propped up on one gear bag, his broken splinted leg raised on the other. Carol placed the cooling blue plastic bag behind his head, over the lump rising there. She secured it with one of the red strips of cloth she'd ripped from her extra shirt when she'd tied up the splint. She'd used the rest of it to make a sling for his right arm, immobilizing it so he didn't pull out the stitches in his shoulder.

"Carol. _Stop_." Daryl said, taking her hand in his. "You need to just _go_. I'm just gonna slow you down."

"No way. There's no way I'm leaving you here." She said adamantly. When he opened his mouth to speak again she swiftly kissed him, effectively cutting off his protests.

_"Good for you, Carol."_ _Jacqui softly chuckled, and Glenn joined her._

"Can't think straight when ya do that." Daryl mumbled, holding onto the nape of her neck, their foreheads still touching.

"Or it's just the lump on the back of your head scrambling your melon." She said, giving his description of her similar injury back to him.

"Dixons...all hard heads." He said, grimacing in pain, but trying to hide it. He released her and she reached for the pill bottle in her jacket pocket.

"You can have another pain pill now-it's been long enough." she told him gently, and when he acquiesced she knew how bad the pain must still be. He took it with a swallow of water and then settled back.

"So shoot." he told her. "What's your plan?"

"You think butchering a dog is about the same as butchering a doe?" She asked him. Daryl frowned and looked over at the carcass. He raised an eyebrow at her.

* * *

The screen went white.

_ "Good for you, Carol."_ Jacqui said approvingly and softly chuckled again.

Glenn turned to back towards her questioningly.

"Serendipity?" he asked.

"An aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident." Jacqui quoted again.

* * *

_**So have you figured out what Carol's plan is?**_

_**I was having a real problem with this chapter—I actually wrote two and a half other versions of it, but none of them felt true to the tone of what I had written so far. Then I realized I needed to start to blend the A and B story lines together more fully. Glenn had gotten hints about what was happening with Carol & Daryl's quest, but he needed to see it. Who better to guide him in that than Jacqui? Thanks to **_**alibabwa **_**who liked Jim in Ch. 9 and said she missed Jacqui as well, finally giving me the wake up in the middle of the night idea for where this chapter should go.**_

_**The decision to have Glenn ghost in to observe Sophia came as I was trying to decide what other little scenes alluded to in the series but not shown I would've like to have seen. That I was able to give an organic reason for the walker's going after Ed, why Morales' daughter gives Sophia her rag doll, (later so important in "Chupacabra") and foreshadow S2's search for Sophia and S4 Carol's knife lessons while also giving Shane a nice cameo, made it all come together for me. **_

_**I hope you like it!**_


	14. Chapter 14: Pas de deux

_**A little Caryl flashback to some S2 episode events, (mainly from **__**Chupacabra**__** and **__**Pretty Much Dead Already**__**) and Glenn meets up with a surprising person as he continues to observe our lovers.**_

_14. Pas de deux_

"They shoot horses don't they?" Daryl asked, panting with exertion, bumping his butt up one more hard step. He slumped back and used his left hand to rake his dark hair off of his forehead and back, making him look like he was a kid slicked up for school pictures, the one in the snazzy bow tie off set by his black eye and missing front tooth.

"What?" Carol said from the step below him, huffing out a breath. She supported his outstretched broken leg, doing her best to keep it still, keep it from jarring agonizingly as he worked himself up the concrete staircase of the storm shelter.

"Race horses-when they break their legs, they shoot 'em." Daryl said, grunting as he gathered his strength for the next step. The slow process was made even more difficult because it was his left leg broken, but his right arm was bound in a sling, making it hard for him to lever his body up enough to raise it to the height of the next step each time, using opposite limbs.

"I guess it depends on how valuable the horse is." She told him, suppressing a grin. "For an important _stallion _they'd probably try to treat it..." and then she did smirk at the implication. If he was going to liken himself to a race horse she was going to extend the analogy any way she liked it.

"Oh, so if I hadn't a been any good in the sack you'd a just put me _down_?" he snorted, sounding highly affronted.

"Probably." She agreed affably, nodding her head at him. He frowned at her and ducked his head, his sweat soaked bangs falling back down over his eyes.

_"Horny bitch."_ He said under his breath, but then he grinned and his eyes rose to meet hers as he canted his head at her and her laughter bubbled over.

The last time he had used that second word in regard to her he'd been trying to ready a horse for going out on another search for Sophia. It had been a couple of days after he'd returned with Sophia's rag doll, a last minute present from Teresa, Morales' little girl, as they were leaving the Atlanta quarry camp.

She'd watched him go into the shed the Greens used as a tack room and grab the saddle and bridle for one of the horses stabled next to it. Hershel had told him to stay off his feet for at least three days and to limit his activities for another week after that to give the stitches in his side, where his own arrow had skewered him as he'd fallen down the steep slope to the river bed below, a chance to heal.

Carol had been horrified at the state he'd been in when Rick and Shane had brought him into the house, supporting him between them, unconscious, bruised, bloody and covered in river mud. The men had taken him to a downstairs bedroom near the one where Carl still laid and she had made to follow until T-Dog pulled her aside and showed her what he'd found under Daryl's body after Andrea had grazed his head with the rifle shot.

As she held the dirty, soaking wet thing, she'd almost collapsed when she saw the blood marring its surface. But then she realized the blood was wet, fresh...that it was Daryl's blood, and not her daughter's. He had risked his life, almost died, to bring back the first hard evidence they had of Sophia. She thought of the flower that now sat in pride of place on the small table of the Winnebago, the one he'd brought to her, another sign of hope.

She'd turned it over and over in her head as she sat at the head of the dinner table surrounded by the uncomfortable silence of the group, the one that would later blend so well and _become_ a family, but was now the equivalent of an awkward gathering between two sets of prospective in-laws, one from the country and the other from the city, little in common but the two young lovers at their center. She watched as Glenn and Maggie passed notes under the table—something going on there—but again her thoughts returned to the injured man.

Wanting to do something tangible to thank him, Carol slipped away from the dinner table. Knowing he would be hungry, she prepared him a plate and put it and a glass of the fruit juice she knew he liked onto a tray she found and went down the hall to the bedroom where the tracker rested.

As she quietly pushed the door open without knocking, his back was to her as he lay on the big antique bed. She realized that in all the time she'd known him she'd never seen him without his shirt on...and now she knew why. A map of suffering was laid out across his back in stripes of purple and red; the tracks of ropy scar tissue making her draw her brows together in empathy. Two graceful bat-winged demons clawed their way up his shoulder, and a rectangular gauze bandage covered the place where the arrow had pieced his side. The bullet graze on his brow was protected by a bandana of more gauze, giving him the look of the fifer in the famous Revolutionary War painting, a wounded warrior.

When he heard her enter he quickly drew the covers up over his body and she knew better than to ask him any questions. Instead she told him some truths. About how much she appreciated what he had done for her daughter, how it was more than her daddy had ever done.

But before that she placed her hands flat on the bed behind his back, bracing herself, careful not to raise a hand to touch him and then leaned across his shoulder, her breasts brushing his well muscled bicep, pulled as tight as an over strung guitar, and kissed him once, gently on his forehead.

As she leaned in, Daryl must've seen her out of the corner of his eye with his strong peripheral vision, his even stronger instincts for knowing when to duck honed with much practice. Before her lips touched him he flinched, his arm rising to block her, but subsiding before it made contact. She recognized it for what it was; he was protecting himself. She completed her small grateful gesture and then moved away from him to stand by the bedside.

As he absorbed what she had just done, Daryl looked back over his shoulder at her, his face a mix of confusion and hope. Why would she do something like that? What did she want from him? She made him feel things he hadn't felt in a long time...safe, cared for. She'd brought him food just now, was always making sure he ate, had clean clothes...she took _care_ of him. The only person who had ever done that for him before had vanished in smoke and flames and bitter ashes.

"Watch it," he grumbled, turning away from her again, "I got stitches."

When she praised him for his bravery he reacted with self derision, reminding her that the two resident lawmen would've done the same.

"You're every bit as good as them...every bit." she said solemnly and then silently left the room, closing the door securely behind her so he could eat in peace.

He compared her words to what Merle—well, his hallucination or dream or ghost of Merle—had said to him that afternoon in the gully as he laid, bleeding walker bait, on the sandy shore of the narrow stream. Merle's was always the voice he heard in his head, the voice of doubt.

_"You're nothing but a freak to them...redneck trash...that's all you are ...ah, they laughing at you behind your back; you know that, don't you?"_

Carol wasn't. Carol thought he was the kind of man who would do right by her and her girl. As good a man as Rick, who he was coming to respect or Shane who had defended her from her brutal husband.

_"Ain't nobody gonna care about you 'cept me little brother, ain't nobody never will."_

Merle had never been more wrong about anything, but Daryl hadn't figured that out by the time he carried that saddle into the barn a few days later.

She was on him, in his business again, questioning his right to just go the fuck wherever and whenever he wanted. He'd take that from Merle or his boss, he had to—but what gave her the right to think she had any say in his comings and goings? When she'd told him she didn't know if they would find Sophia, he'd been stunned, angered, hurt—he'd thought she believed in him—but as her tears threatened, she'd said the most remarkable thing,

"I can't lose you too."

And then he knew he had to get away from her—keep her away from him—he felt flooded with emotions, overloaded from feelings with which he had no ability to cope. He threw down the saddle, doubling over at the agony that brought, ripping several stitches loose in his side. She started forward to help him, but he was a bear when he was hurt; just wanted to be left alone to lick his wounds.

"_Stupid bitch._" he'd snarled and stalked away. She hadn't followed.

Daryl had just kept walking, finding himself down by the farm pond, walked out on the dock, taken off his shoes, and dangled his feet in the water like he'd done in the stream behind their house when he'd been a little kid. He didn't need this shit. He didn't need all these people complicating his life. He knew how to hunt, how to kill walkers, hell, he'd unknowingly been training for the apocalypse his whole life like some inadvertent doomsday prepper.

Then something along the shoreline caught his eye—a flash of pure white against dark green—and he stood, grabbing up his shoes.

* * *

_"Hey."_

Sitting at the table trying to read some god awful book she'd found here in Dale's RV, Carol heard the soft tentative drawl from the doorway. She pursed her lips and frowned at the man who stood there and he visibly winced.

"Got a minute?" Daryl asked, barely meeting her suspicious gaze before looking away, "Got somthin' to show ya." Carol put the book down and tilted her head at him.

"What?"

"Gotta come with." he told her, ducking his head and backing out the door, not waiting to see if she followed. Sighing, she stood and went along. At least he was talking to her. She'd been afraid after what she'd said to him this morning, what she hadn't intended to ever voice, he'd stay away for days.

Something about him, perhaps their shared understanding of pain, had connected with her heart; she saw goodness in him, honor and compassion and kindness, despite his foul mouthed defensiveness.

In her search for her daughter, Carol had found _him_ instead.

He'd become important to her, probably too important. He was conversely the strongest and weakest of all of them. More than capable of defending himself and others, he was also the most likely to shut down or just drift away if he didn't feel a connection to the group.

_"I can't lose you too."_

As soon as she'd said it she'd started to cry because she knew he wasn't ready to hear it, might never accept what it _implied_, from her or anyone. He made her want to take him in her arms and soothe him, tell him everything would be ok, bind his wounds and heal his heart.

Somehow over these last weeks since Atlanta she had fallen in love with him.

He'd taken her to see the flowers, the Cherokee Roses, and told her he would find Sophia. He'd apologized in his awkward way. She gave him what he needed then, telling him she believed he'd find her daughter as her fingers felt the silken white petals that looked like teardrops.

But the flowers knew. They knew she'd never have her girl back. They mocked her... and later she came back and destroyed them, ripped them out root and branch, shredding the tears of white, giving in to the anger she hadn't shown in front of Daryl, in front of Lori and the others. She had already done her mourning. She'd lost the worst and the best things in her life in less than a month and a half. She wasn't going to lose anyone else she cared about.

* * *

"Interesting, isn't it?" said an unfamiliar voice. Glenn looked around from the screen upon which he'd been watching Daryl and Carol's progress to see that he was no longer in the clean room, but in a nondescript industrial looking room with gray concrete floors and walls. The ceiling fluorescents were dark, but windows high on the walls let in some natural light.

At first he thought he was back at the prison, but then he saw several nude and dismembered department store mannequins pushed against one wall and stacks of silver and metal clothing racks and dismantled shelving piled haphazardly on the floor near a large loading dock door.

A pleasant looking dark haired young man wearing navy blue slacks and a light green shirt stood in front of him. He had his hands in his pockets and was leaning casually on a work bench near a wall where a fire extinguisher and a fire axe hung, encased behind a clear glass door bordered in red. He smiled at Glenn expectantly, as if he should recognize him.

"Nice to finally meet you, Glenn." The young man said, stepping forward and extending his hand. Glenn slowly pulled his right hand out of his characteristic tight self hug pose in which he shoved his hands under the elbows of the opposite arms. He cocked his head quizzically, only then noticing that his cap had reappeared and looked down to see his clothes were again the ones from Atlanta.

"Wayne, Wayne Dunlap." The young man said, keeping his hand out, but when Glenn still showed no recognition, the man sighed and added, "_Organ donor?"_

Glenn's mouth dropped open. He looked to the axe behind the man, the one which Rick had used to dismember and gut this man...this walker... on the floor where they now stood...

"B-but you're-" Glen stuttered, looking down at Dunlap's hand.

"Alive? Well, I was. We all were before we died and turned. We all had lives and people who loved us-isn't that what your man Rick said? The sheriff? Before he hacked me into kibbles and bits?"

"I'm...I'm sorry..."

"No reason to be. I was past caring. I'm glad it helped."

Glenn realized that it really _had_ helped-using this man's remains had gotten he and Rick almost all of the way to the construction lot where the cube van had been parked. He grasped Dunlap's cool dry hand firmly with both of his and squeezed as he shook it. He felt a wave of sympathy and gratitude and sorrow and pulled the young man into a hug, muttering again how sorry he was.

"Hey man, you're burning up..." Dunlap said, concerned and returning the hug, "I was like that too-after I got bit." Glenn stiffened and slowly released him. Dunlap pushed up his shirt sleeve and Glenn saw the place on the meat of his forearm where a big chunk of flesh was missing, the gory borders oozing and soaking into his shirt. Glenn looked back to Wayne's face and saw that the edges of his lips were starting to look a little blue, the rims of his eyes red, his pallor now distinctly gray.

"I was leaving her-my girl-Rachel. She wouldn't leave the city so I was leaving her. I came down the stairs with my stuff and she'd fallen asleep, slumped there at the kitchen table. I reached over to wake her-tell her I was going-and she latched onto my arm and did this! At the time I thought she must a been bit and not told me-" he said angrily.

"Not necessarily-"Glenn began, but then Wayne joined him to complete the statement, saying in unison,

_"You don't have to be bit to turn."_ They both nodded.

"Could a used this omniscience thing back then, you know?" Wayne said a bit sourly and paced over to the blank concrete wall where the screen had been. "Would a known to get out in the early days, not hang around waiting for her stupid asshole boss to release her. She was a nurse...on the front lines of this mess...stayed to help people and look what she got out of it."

The screen buzzed and popped to life then and it was split into 5 separate precincts, all but the center one featuring a lone figure. On the top left was Merle, still locked on the roof, next to him was Dale, slowly drifting across the quarry lake in his canoe, bottom left was Andrea, seated atop the Winnebago, her disreputable straw cowboy hat pulled low over her eyes, her rifle at the ready, and beside her Sophia, forlornly holding the bucket of guts.

In the center scene, slightly overlapping the rest, were Carol and Daryl, slowly making their way up the stairs of the storm cellar.

"It's all there, Glenn. The answer you've been looking for." Wayne said, studying him intently.

Glenn looked closely, but then the screen went dark and a series of short scenes played out one after another.

First it was Rick confronting Merle atop the roof of this building, "We survive this by pulling _together_ not apart."

Then Daryl to Merle in the machine shop at the prison, "You can't do stuff without people anymore, man."

Rick at the prison before the governor's raid, "I couldn't sacrifice one of us for the greater good because we _are_ the greater good."

Andrea in the torture chamber where she sat dying, to Rick, Michonne and Daryl, "No one can make it alone now," and Daryl's response, "Never could."

And finally Carol to Daryl as she sat in his cell at the prison, talking to him as he reclined on his bunk, fiddling with his arrow. _"...you found me..." _and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

"They're gonna make it because they have each other." Glenn whispered, and the entire screen filled with Daryl and Carol. Behind him Wayne nodded approvingly.

* * *

_**In Ballet, the term "pas de deux" refers to a dance for two people, usually a man and a woman. It was the perfect title for this chapter because it is about the growth of Carol and Daryl's relationship as well as Glenn's realization of the importance of not going it alone. **_

_**The people he has met up with in Limbo had become disconnected from the group somehow. Merle was handcuffed to the roof because, as Rick tells Daryl, "Your brother does not work and play well with others," and of course in his final appearance goes off by himself to try and assassinate the Governor(yes, this is a sacrifice for the benefit of the group of which his brother is a member, but he still goes solo); Jim felt alone when he lost his family and then in his sorrow and guilt asked to be left alone under the tree along the road side; Sophia never confided her guilt over her perceived fault for her father's death in anyone and then chose to run into the woods alone rather than towards the people on the road who could've helped her during the herd attack on the highway; Dale was in the minority on the Randall decision, and went off by himself, which left him vulnerable to the walker that attacked him; Andrea was accidentally separated from the group after the farm and then chose to let Michonne go and stayed in Woodbury alone to pursue the disastrous relationship with Blake. Finally Wayne was in the process of abandoning Rachel when he was bitten, dooming him.**_

**Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who is following, favoriting and reviewing! It makes my day when the PC dings to tell me another one has come in!**


	15. Chapter 15: Sangju

_15. Sangju_

_**In Korean funerary customs the first son of the deceased assumes the role of **__**Sangju**__**, basically the master of ceremonies for the rituals of death.**_

* * *

Glenn found himself in a darkened room, the only light coming from low candles on a small table at the other end. He saw a lovely dark haired girl standing in front of the table covered in a white cloth upon which rested three votive candles and photos of three Korean women, the one in the center older. Black ribbons ran diagonally across the surface of the images. She lit a long stick of incense and then blew it out, a smoke trail rising as she placed it in a low basin in front of the pictures. It was his eldest sister, Elaine (_Eun_, meaning charity in Korean).

"Lainey?" Glenn said tentatively, and she turned back towards his voice.

"Jun?" Elaine asked, narrowing her eyes.

_"Oh my god, Lainey!"_ Glenn started to cry, moving quickly to embrace her, but she held her hand up to stop him.

"You are late, _Sangju._ I have had to do your work._"_ she said coldly. Glenn looked at the photos on the table: his mother and other two sisters, both younger, teenagers, Izzy (_Isuel_, dew) and Gina, (_Jin_, precious).

Glenn was the Americanization of his Korean name, "Jun" which meant talented and handsome, also 'ruler.' His parents had high aspirations for their oldest only son; had been disappointed when he had dropped out of university in Atlanta to deliver pizzas and try his luck on the video gaming tournament circuit. He had been estranged from them since his father died several years ago, hadn't been back to Saginaw since last acting as Sangju for that funeral.

In Korean funerary tradition, the Sangju must make ceremonial atonement for the sin of allowing his parent to die, but Glenn had quickly realized that there was nothing ceremonial about the guilt he was expected to feel. He was supposed to finish his accounting degree and return to help run the family business. That he hadn't, that his father had died of a heart attack while working over time, had laid the blame squarely on his shoulders as far as his family was concerned.

His father and mother had been first generation, salt of the earth traditional Koreans. A fully Americanized son who liked fast food, rock music and video gaming was like an alien to them. While he lived at home he'd tried to tow the line, but had found a college as far away as possible, gratefully escaping to the exotic wilds of Georgia.

"I tried, Lainey..." Glenn told her desperately, staring at the pictures. "I _tried_ to get home." he looked at her cold white face, her raven winged hair pulled back from it in a severe knot at her nape, her long bangs falling in her dark angry eyes.

"You didn't come." she said, confused, shaking her head as if she was clearing it. She looked at him searchingly, "Why didn't you come?"

"The walkers...everything just stopped—no cell—no planes or trains—my car was jacked..." he tried explaining. Tried telling her that when the world had stood still the journey from Georgia to Michigan had been impossible, that he'd had no way of knowing if any of them lived or if they did where they had ended up.

"Walkers? You mean the _gangshi_?" It was the Korean word for the reanimated corpses found in Chinese folk tales and horror films.

"The walking dead," Glenn told her and she nodded.

"Yes. They walk. And they bite and they kill." Elaine said in a monotone, looking over at the photos on the table. Glenn followed her gaze, his eyes filling with tears again.

"All... _All_ of them?" he thought of bold gymnast Izzy, sweet gentle little Gina, with her collection of matchbooks from all over the world, his mother, who had continued to send him a check every month behind her husband's back after he'd dropped out of school.

"All of _us._" she said coldly, "Iz was bitten on her way home from practice...we didn't know what would happen, the news reports didn't tell us. Mother tried to nurse her at home...when Izzy changed she killed her. We tried to stop her—she bit Gina—then me before I could..."

"_Oh Lainey_..." Glenn sobbed, pulling her into his arms, but she stood stiffly, refusing his comfort, extricating herself from his arms.

"I found father's pistol and I shot them all, Jun. That was _your _job..." She pushed her bangs off of her forehead, revealing a small hole at her temple. "_This _was your job. And so now I am my _own_ Sangju." She took a fourth photograph out of the basket beside the table and slowly wrapped a black ribbon around it, tying it at the back.

"_My _sins." She set the photo of herself beside the others, took out and lit another votive. Then she knelt on the coarse woven grass mat next to the table.

"_Our_ mother. _Our_ sisters." She pulled a longer length of black ribbon out of the basket and tied it around her chest, above her breasts and then methodically slid the knot to the back so only the smooth black stripe sliced across her traditional hanbock gown.

Glenn went to his knees beside her.

"Please Lainey...I'm sorry..._I'm so sorry..."_ He'd known, on some level he'd always known that they were gone, but he hadn't let himself face the truth of it, how he'd failed them, his blood. He closed his eyes and bowed low, his arms on the ground, hands palm down, trying to show respect, his throat clogging with tears.

"_Go._ Go back to your _new_ family now, Jun..._Glenn."_ Eun said bitterly. Glenn wrapped his arms around himself and wept.

* * *

"Glenn." a calm warm female voice said from behind him. He'd fallen to his side, curled in a fetal position, empty of all feelings, all possibilities. He didn't move.

_"Glenn."_ the voice repeated and he felt a stirring in the air as someone knelt beside him, touched his shoulder softly.

"They need you Glenn." she said. No they didn't. Glenn knew. They were gone. He'd failed them.

"Just leave me alone." Glenn said, his voice as dead as his family.

"Alone?" and she chuckled, "How soon we forget." He heard his own words to Wayne,

_"They're gonna make it coz they have each other."_

Glenn sat up, his face red with anger and fear and tears and looked into the concerned face of Lori Grimes. She held her arms out to him and he went into her embrace like it was a life line and he a drowning man.

"I'm sorry about your sisters, your mom." she said compassionately, rubbing his back like she used to do for Carl when he was afraid or sick. "But they're_ gone_, Glenn; they're beyond your help. There are others—others who need you _now_."

"There's too many...too many dead...I can't do it anymore..." Glenn whispered.

"Do you think you're the only one? The only one who's lost their family?" She put her hands on his shoulders and drew his face around to look at the screen.

"Had t' shoot our daddy." Merle said, "He'd turned by the time Derle an' I found him."

"The only reason I got away...was because the dead were eating my family." Jim said.

"A toast to us, Irma." Dale said, clinking his wine glass against hers, the colorful pretty scarf artfully wrapped around her head to hide her chemo baldness reminding him of a Monet sunset.

"I'm here now, Amy." Andrea said, putting the gun to her sister's head and pulling the trigger.

_"Sophia?"_ Carol came rushing forward, but was caught up by Daryl's strong arms like a rescuer saves someone about to plunge off the edge of a cliff or a window sill or a bridge high above the hard earth or pavement or cold icy water.

"Mama!" Beth screamed, rushing forward, pushing the fallen walker off of the body of what had once been her mother, but it hissed and grabbed at her and Beth screamed again, now in fear not sorrow.

Rick watched Carl and Maggie come out of the wire cage doorway, the young woman's arms red with blood all the way to her elbows, a crying infant held in her arms. Carl stopped, his face blank, old.

"Oh_ no_..._no no no_..." Rick wailed, heartbroken, reeling, falling to the ground.

"I shot my mom." Carl told Daryl as they walked together in the Tombs. "It was real."

"And I see red, I see red, everything's red, everything I _see_ is red and I _do_ it!" Morgan shouted to Rick, his face a mask of agony.

Daryl stopped as he saw a familiar silhouette bent over the corpse of a kid. He lost all feeling in his hands; numbed, he let his crossbow fall to the ground beside him. His face screwed up in a rictus of pain; the walker that had been his last kin, the last remnant of his old life looked up, growled, stumbled towards him.

The screen went dark.

"But if that's all there was _none _of us would have the will to go on." Lori reminded him, and the screen lightened.

Glenn watched...

"Hey helicopter boy, come on out and say hello." Morales shouted, and Sheriff Rick Grimes came out from between the vehicles. He saw Carl first and fell to his knees as the boy flung himself into his arms. Lori's face registered disbelief, joy and guilt in equal measure as she stood, stunned for several beats before rushing to her husband and embracing him.

"_I love you._ I should have said it a long time ago and it's been true for a long time." Glenn told Maggie as they sat in the Hyundai the morning after the herd attack on the farm.

As Rick and Daryl clasped hands, Maggie and Beth embraced their father, Lori knelt to engulf Carl in her arms as they were reunited on the highway. As Carol climbed back on Daryl's chopper instead of riding in the safety of one of the cars, wrapping her arms around him, reassuring them both that they were still alive.

As they took the prison yard, a tight combat unit, all members functioning efficiently and then as they sat around the campfire, Daryl and Carol flirting on the overturned bus, Beth and Maggie's voices blending in harmony on a poignant ballad about those who leave and those who are left behind.

In the cellblock, as Hershel awakened, one leg short but with no fever, grasped Rick's hand and everyone sighed with relief. As they laughed and teased Carol a few nights later, and Glenn the next morning, just like a fond family from TV land.

As Daryl slammed open the door in Solitary, Carol's knife raised to kill the walker behind it and found her crystal blue gaze instead, carrying her up out of the darkness into the light; Rick's deep joy when he saw her making even the usually dead pan tracker smile.

As Beth handed Judith to Maggie to feed, the little scrap of humanity easing her wounded spirit after Woodbury; as Glenn and Maggie found each other again, hot, sweaty, down dirty; as he silently asked her to be his wife, handing her the second hand ring, her quiet heartfelt _yes._

Successfully chasing the Governor and his army away, welcoming the refugees from Woodbury.

Michonne bringing the horse she'd found on a run back with her, taking horsemanship and riding lessons from Beth and Maggie in exchange for sword training.

As Daryl and Carol sat in the Hyundai yesterday, him so carefully checking her for injuries, murmuring, _"Don't do this to me, sweetheart..." _and then both pushing through their barriers to finally kiss, to admit their feelings.

The screen went blank but stayed on to illuminate the room in a soft glow.

"It's _life_ Glenn. There are always regrets, always sins, but you can't let them destroy your will. Don't you_ dare _give it up without a fight! Your family _needs_ you. Maggie needs you. Your _daughter_ needs you."

"My daughter?" Glenn said, wonderingly, looking back to the screen, but it remained blank.

"I can't show you..." Lori said, shaking her head, but then leaned close, her hand on his shoulder, his lips at his ear, "_Josephine Eun_..." she whispered. "Just hang in there Glenn. They'll be back soon..."

* * *

_**Daryl: "Ya got big balls for a Chinaman."**_

_**Glenn: "I'm Korean."**_

_**Daryl: "Whatever."**_

_**Merle: "Almost killed that Chinese kid!"**_

_**Daryl: "He's Korean!" **_

_**Merle: "Whatever!"**_

**Glenn is usually the first one to talk about how the group is his family now. We only get a couple of brief mentions of where he came from and hints about his family of origin in the series. He tells Rick the only women to ever tell him they loved him were his mother and sisters, and later tells Hershel he is from Michigan. If Glenn is at death's door, I thought that we should explore his heritage, his 'blood' family, why he isn't with them and his feelings about that fact.**

**I did some research on Korean burial traditions and what I have in the chapter is pretty accurate to what I found, and the names are the correct translations. (I was also sort inspired by all those years of watching Lane deal with Mrs. Kim on ****_Gilmore Girls _****:)**

_**And it was a whole lot easier to come up with sad family scenes than happy ones, damn you Kirkman**_.

**Next chapter back to Carol and Daryl...**


	16. Chapter 16: Guts Part II

_**Carol's plan comes to fruition as she and Daryl escape the storm cellar with a little sweet smut thrown in for motivation and a surprise at the end.**_

**Thank you all followers, favorites and reviewers! Your comments and interest are fantastic!**

* * *

_16. Guts Part II_

"You are _insane_, you know that woman?" Daryl gasped as he saw the speedometer hit 85, "And you can slow the fuck down now! We're _clear." _He looked over at Carol, her hands clasping the steering wheel so tightly he was surprised it wasn't bending to her will.

"Carol! I said _ease up._ We're clear!" Daryl reached his left hand over to touch her shoulder gently and she hit the brakes and the car fishtailed as it slowed and she screamed at him,

_"It almost got you! I almost got you killed!"_ the car came to a halt. Carol let her head fall forward onto the steering wheel and cried in great heaving sobs, her terror over the events of the last day and a half releasing all at once.

Daryl reached down and unhooked her seat belt and took hold of her arm and pulled her across the seat towards him, gritting his teeth against the nausea as she bumped into his broken leg, sending molten spikes of pain up all the way to his spine.

"It _didn't_—I'm here—honey, I'm _here._" he pulled her onto his lap and held her close, feeling how badly she was shaking, amazed that this was the same woman who had just faced down a pack of hell hounds and a small herd of ugly ass walkers like she was Ripley in one 'a them _Alien _space movies.

She looked up at him and sniffed, sounding surprised.

"Honey?" she blinked at him with that stubborn vertical wrinkle between her brows he'd seen so many times when he'd done something that would puzzle or anger her.

"Ya seemed to like sweetheart, thought I'd branch out." he said, smiling. Carol sniffed again, gave him a watery smile and pulled his face down to hers, but then paused.

"Oh holy shit, do we smell _bad_..." she wrinkled up her nose but then laughed, and he snorted and kissed her.

Carol reveled in the feel of his mouth on hers—he was alive, she was alive—flashes of memory of the day's events played back as he deepened the kiss...

* * *

Daryl gritted his teeth against the acid waves of pain coming from his right shoulder and left leg as he used his left arm to keep himself from pitching forward, but then her hands were there, holding him up with her right hand to his chest while still supporting his leg with her left.

"I'm ready for a break, how about you?" Carol asked, sitting down on the step below him. He nodded curtly and leaned back. His shirt underneath his open vest and jacket was soaked through with sweat, he was trembling and his pupils were wide and dilated both from the pain and the pain pills. She didn't want him going into shock, the broken leg, the dog bite and head trauma mixed with the exertion from the stair climb an ugly combination. She had to ration the pills, both because she worried about concussion, but also because they had a limited supply.

He'd helped her gut and dismember Rover and then she'd hauled the parts up to the top of the stairs in the emptied out Rubbermaid bins and containers they'd found in the cellar. Even one-handed he was good with a sharp knife and also knew just where to direct her own cuts for maximum efficiency. They'd peeled the gallon Ziploc bags (from her go bag supply, secured with rubber bands above their elbows,) off of their hands, where they'd acted as a barrier to the gore, and tossed them into one of the bins.

Now they just had to get _him_ all of the way up the stairs so she could carry out her plan to save them both.

"Ready for the next one?" Carol asked, looking at Daryl's pain pinched face. They'd made better progress than she'd expected, even with taking periodic breaks so he could rest, but still had about 5 steps to go to reach the top. Daryl stretched his neck from side to side and she heard the joints snap like rapid fire pop guns and he grimaced.

"Need more _incentive_." Daryl finally said, raising one eyebrow and smiling lazily despite his pain.

"Again?" she sighed-he really was incorrigible, even in this whumped state.

"You promised..." he actually pouted. And it looked good on him. Adorable.

Carol sighed again and then reached down to the hem of her shirt and tugged it up, flashing him her bare breasts. She'd used her bra to make the carrying sling for his leg and had tugged her shirt back on without it.

When he'd realized that, as they'd begun their ascent this morning, rested and perhaps a little high from the pain pills at peak effectiveness, he'd been mesmerized by the soft sway of them under her shirt. As she leaned forward to help him, her shirt gaped at the neck and he could see all the way through to the waist of her pants, her rosebud pink nipples tight in the chill air of the cellar.

"Can I help you with something?" she asked him archly, her eyebrows rising as she followed his stare. She reached out and took his bristled chin in her hand and drew his eyes up to hers.

"_What?"_ he asked, all innocence.

"They're just breasts, Daryl; every other person in the world has them." She chided him.

"Yeah, but I'm 'lowed to see _these_ uns...touch 'em?...kiss 'em? _Ain't I?"_ His accent going 'aw shucks M'am, _deep_ south Georgia now, shy and hopeful. Totally irresistible, looking at her with those big blue puppy dog eyes. He snaked his left hand under her shirt to caress the soft flesh of her right breast, which fit perfectly, cupped in his long fingered hand, his thumb circling the nipple.

"_Daryl_..." she moaned, moving her hands to his shoulders near his neck, digging her fingers into the collar of his jacket, "This is completely ridiculous. We're sort of in a life or death situation here..." He slid his hand around to her back, propelling her forward so her breasts were even with his lips and then he worked to hitch her shirt up so he had access to them.

"Just a taste-make me happy, help me get up...the steps..." he promised and his tongue swept out to just dot the end of her left nipple with warm wetness. He repeated the teasing maneuver on the right and she shivered.

"How come I get a pukey concussion and you get a _sexy as fuck_ one?" she protested, closing her eyes and swallowing hard, gasping in a raspy whisper, _"Oh hell..."_

In reply he drew down on the now throbbing nipple he'd just sucked into his mouth, knowing if she was cussin' at him it she must be getting' excited about sum-thin'.

_"Take off the rest a yer clothes."_ He whispered in between long loving licks and nibbles. _"Please?"_ he asked. She grasped the sides of his head and tilted it back, looking down at him. His pupils were large, dark, but there was still blue there, this was desire, not head trauma, she was pretty sure...

"You're in no condition-" she began, but his left hand pushed between her legs, pressing up and into her center, rubbing firmly against the seam of her jeans, making her gasp, showing her how well he'd retained his first lesson.

"Long as I got one good hand, _you're_ good to go." He told her, smirking. And she choked out a laugh at his sly confidence, but she was afraid of hurting him-jarring his leg or grabbing at his shoulder by mistake. His head lowered and he returned to her breasts, driving her higher, his hand alternately tracing delicate circles and pressing up against her hard in a relentless rhythm.

Finally she couldn't take it anymore and pulled away from him, breathing harshly. He looked bereft, reached for her, but she sighed and glared at him, frowning.

_"Sweetheart?"_ he asked quietly, "I need this—to touch you—_please?"_ He felt a barely controlled need to reassure himself that she was really here,_ with_ him, show her that he was really _hers, _that he could give her something no one else could. Whatever was waiting for them at the top of the stairs he needed_ this_ now.

Carol responded by toeing off her boots, whipping off her shirt and then her hands worked the fastenings of her jeans and wrenched them open so she could pull them off and strip them down her legs, and he smiled in triumph.

_"Sit."_ He said, patting his right thigh and moving his hand in a circle so she knew he wanted her to turn and put her back to him. _"Now lean back-on me."_ He said quietly, and she moved to comply, her body at a diagonal across his, her head resting on his left shoulder.

Carol felt the cold metal of the snaps on his angel winged vest against her spine, smelled the remnants of tobacco clinging to the briny tangy leather of it, her bottom supported by the sleek corded muscles of his thigh under the worn cloth of his tattered dungarees.

He leaned his head to the side and kissed her temple, her jaw line, while his left hand started at the other side of her neck with feather light touches, skimming along her skin, tracing her collar bone, around her nipple, cupping her breast, counting her ribs and then it slipped out to her waist then hip, pulling her back against him tighter, spreading her legs apart, draping them over his right thigh so he had access to her core.

He knew this. The heat of her, the silky slickness, the little kitten noises she made as his fingers pushed inside, the way her hands clutched at him, the right braced against his belly, the left raised behind his left shoulder, anchored in the cloth feathers on the back of his vest. He remembered her special places, the kind of touch she craved, what she needed to get her off and he did every one of them. One handed.

When he finished, when _she _finished, trembling and whimpering, leaning back against him, limp, she watched him raise his fingers to his mouth and one by one, lick her off of them.

"I think I just came _again_." She groaned, watching him do the sexiest thing she could have ever imagined.

That had gotten him almost half way up the stairs.

* * *

She'd had to promise him to let him look again any time he wanted to in return for him doing at least 5 steps. Only _look_ though. She didn't think either one of them had enough energy to do anything more after he'd done what he'd already done. She'd had a hard enough time recovering enough just to get dressed. She shivered a little as she relived it. It had probably been stupid, wasting time when they needed to hurry, to finish their errand of mercy, but god, she had never felt as alive as when he begged her to just let him _touch_ her, to give her that...

"S'pose I'm ready." Daryl told her, sounding long suffering, his eyes rising to her face, giving her that twitch of the side of his mouth that passed as a grin and she let her shirt drop back down. She reached out her right hand to his forehead, checking for fever, raising her left to her own head to compare. They seemed about the same, hot and sweaty with exertion, not infection. He briefly leaned into her hand, making her smile, and then took a deep breath, signaling he was about to move.

They both froze as they heard a scrabbling scratching sound behind him, at the door. The whining barking pack could smell the fresh kill, the coppery scent of blood waiting in the containers at the top of the stairs.

"You sure this is gonna work?" Daryl muttered, looking back over his shoulder.

"I don't hear you coming up with anything better." she said blandly, and then her expression hardened. "Now get that hot ass up another step, mister!" she said sternly, sounding like a sexy school marm again. He grumbled at her, but did as she ordered. As he settled back down on the step above, he closed his eyes and let out a grunting breath.

"So ya like my ass?" he murmured, shifting slightly and grimacing, "Must be why ya left your _brand_ on it last night." Carol's cheeks flamed, remembering how she'd urged him on by scoring the soft tight flesh with her nails, how it had driven them both even higher...

"Sorry." She said meekly, knowing he must be feeling the scratches with every bump up the unforgiving concrete, adding to his pain.

"_I'm_ not." he smirked and pushed himself up another step as she released a surprised laugh. He'd liked her marking him as hers.

* * *

"Are you ready?" Carol asked, looking over at Daryl who was standing, leaning heavily on the wall behind him on the narrow landing at the top of the stairs, his weight on his sound right leg. She'd removed his sling, figuring having the use of both arms now was worth the risk to the stitches in his shoulder, and he was braced against the wall with his right elbow, holding the pistol with the silencer. His big buck knife hung at his waist again. His Sig Sauer was in her leg holster and her knife was in her hand.

"Extra clips in your pockets?" he asked her, double checking. She patted her jacket and pants and nodded. Nodding back, Daryl pushed open the door an inch so she could scout out what they were dealing with.

"Shit. Walkers too." she sighed, looking back over at him despairingly.

"It's ok—you _planned_ for this. Grab the smallest one, be quick, I'll cover you." Daryl said reassuringly.

Carol breathed in and out several times, centering her, and pushed open the door just far enough to toss out the first slab of dog meat, as far as she could throw it, followed quickly by another and another. Both dogs and walkers caught its scent and went for it, allowing her the window she needed to slip out and grab onto the arms of what had been a kid, the smallest of the walkers Daryl had taken out when clearing the storm shelter. She dragged it back to the door as quickly as she could.

"Duck!" Daryl yelled and she dropped, heard the whiz of a bullet flying over her head, heard the yelping whine as it connected with one of the hounds. _"Bring it! Move!"_ he shouted and she looked up into his grim face as he took aim again, this time to her right. He continued to fire as she pulled the flaccid body over the threshold, letting it flop part way down the stairs so he could slam the door shut.

"Took out about half the dogs." he told her, breathing hard, changing out his clip. "But the fresh kills will bring more walkers, we need to hurry." She pulled on her gloves and he handed her his big knife and she scrambled down the steps and used it to slit open the belly of the walker, trying to ignore its dirty blonde hair or the fact that it was wearing Yummy Sushi footie pajamas as she sliced through them.

The smell reached Daryl's nose and he gagged, forcing himself to smile, knowing that fought the reflex to spill his guts, reminded of the walker he and Rick had field dressed, searching for Sophia. He'd told her to get the smallest, knowing that would be quicker, get her out of danger faster, but knowing using a child walker to save them would be a cruel irony to her.

Carol blinked away the tears, knowing it was partly the smell and partly the fact of the child, but not letting either deter her. She pulled apart the skin and muscle of its belly and scooped out the blackened viscera like so much rotten stringy slimy pumpkin innards from a Jack o'Lantern she was readying for carving, and dumped them into the plastic container.

"Oh_ god_ this is awful." she said, turning her head and dry heaving, spitting the bile that came up onto the step below.

"Good." Daryl said, "Worse it smells, less we smell alive to them walkers out there." They'd both remembered Glenn's excited recounting of how he and Rick had made the others cover them with the gory remains of a man named Wayne Dunlap in their escape from the department store in Atlanta. Michonne had accidentally done the same thing in her flight from Woodbury, slicing open the abdomen of a walker as she lay injured beneath it, a waterfall of putrification covering her, making the walkers all around ignore her.

That and the body of Rover had been the basis of Carol's plan. Distract the dogs with the meat long enough to shoot them all, or if there were walkers too, distract them both long enough to grab the nearest of the bodies and cover themselves with stink.

"She so little..." Carol murmured, and Daryl looked down at her with concern.

"Sweetheart? You doin' ok?" he called; worried it was getting to her, using the little girl's remains.

"I just don't know if there are enough guts." Carol said, sounding frustrated.

"It'll do—c'mon." he reassured her and she came back up the stairs with the smelly bounty.

"You first." he instructed, knowing if they had a limited supply she needed the most coverage since she was the one running for the car. Swallowing hard, she spread the foul sludge down her arms, torso, hips and legs.

As Carol lifted the first fist full of the disgusting improvised camouflage towards him, Daryl suddenly held up his hand to stop her.

"Wait." he said, and carefully shrugged off his vest and leather sleeved jacket, snagged one of the gear bags piled next to him, stuffed them inside with his poncho and zipped it back up. "No way I'm getting' that shit all over my vest and jacket." he said haughtily and she smiled and shook her head at him.

"Ok." he nodded and she covered his left shoulder and arm, chiding herself for the thrill that being able to touch him so easily still gave her. What kind of sex starved idiot was she that she was getting turned on by spreading walker innards on his beautiful firm hunky biceps, muscled forearms, magic hands...

Daryl felt the buzz...the back of his neck tingled as she put her hands on him. She felt his gaze on her and lifted her head to look at his hooded eyes and he winked at her and pulled her hard up against his body with his left arm and kissed her, bending her back a little with the power of it.

"We are a couple of sick puppies..." she breathed, "Sick horny puppies..."

"Yeah...but now the goo is all over my front too, ain't it?" he grinned. Ah, there was method to his madness... Carol finished coating them front and back. She got help from him with her back in the form of a long tight hug from behind and a bit of hands on application that concentrated a bit _too_ much on her ass, but finally they were ready.

"Remember, shoot if you have to, but your main job is to get to the barn and get the car. I'll take out the rest of the dogs. If this shit works the walkers shouldn't bother you."

Carol raised an eyebrow at him, her look clearly saying, _and just whose plan is this anyhow?_

"Sorry," he said, and he had the grace to look embarrassed. _"...love you."_ he said meekly in apology.

_"Yeah, yeah..."_ she teased, smiling broadly, her heart singing.

Carol pushed open the door and flung more joints of meat out in the opposite direction from the barn. The dogs went after them, but the walkers congregated nearer the door, making her heart rate pump up into overdrive.

"Here goes nothing." she muttered, pulling off her gloves, picking up her knife from the top of the go bag and slipping it between her teeth, and then grabbing her gun. She nodded at Daryl and slipped out the door, her gun at the ready.

Daryl took her place at the door, opening fire on the dogs, the silenced pistol dropping them quietly, one by one as the others concentrated on their feast, forcing himself to concentrate on that task and not break to see her progress.

Carol held her breath and shuffled forward, canting her left shoulder up, letting that hand sway freely, doing her best to imitate the randomness of a walker's halting stride. She'd studied them in all of those thousands of hours on watch over the last two years, their ungainly but steady never tiring movements. She worked her way around the biggest clump of them, heading in a serpentine seemingly random path towards the barn.

The last dog crumpled to the ground with a high pitched whine—it had moved just as he fired, throwing off his aim and instead of killing it instantly with a head or heart shot he'd hit its neck. Its suffering sickened him, it wasn't its fault the pack had been such a threat; they were just trying to survive, same as he and Carol. Its death throes drew the attention of the walkers away from Carol, and he winced and shrugged, stopping himself from making a second kill shot to take it out, apologizing to it for the necessary cruelty.

Carol reached the smaller people sized barn door and quickly glanced behind her to see how many walkers were close. To her shock, there were none—they all seemed to be drawn in the opposite direction. And then she heard the dog scream and her stomach turned as she saw them swarm it. She wrenched open the door and jumped inside, slamming it quickly behind her.

She got the car out with no problems and parked it in front of the door of the shelter, up tight and they swiftly loaded the gear and scavenged supplies into the rear compartment. The activity made a couple of the walkers curious and they started towards the vehicle just as Carol slammed the hatch down and started to help Daryl around to the passenger side. She leaned him back on the side of the car and he passed her the silenced gun and she moved a few steps away to take them out.

One final dog, a German Shepherd mix bitch with distended teats proclaiming she had a litter, came out from behind the back of the overgrown storm shelter mound, where she had made her den. She zeroed in on the man who had killed her pack. She was the Alpha bitch, second in power only to the big Rottie cross that had attacked them first, her mate. She crept silently forward, hunting Daryl, protecting her pups.

Daryl's attention was on Carol, admiring her grace under pressure as she efficiently took out the walkers. His head was a bit swimmy, the exertions of the day coming back on him and he briefly let his eyes close while he took a deep breath against the very real threat of passing out, trying to center himself. He unsheathed his buck knife, letting his left thumb press into the tip of the blade, the sharp snap of pain a welcome shot of adrenaline, bringing things back into focus.

Carol turned back to him just as the devil bitch launched herself. She screamed his name, brought her gun up and fired.

Daryl's eyes flew open when he heard his name and he saw a blur of teeth and black and tan fill his field of vision and then the thing was on him, knocking him to the ground. His leg felt like someone was grinding shards of glass into his flesh and he could feel the blood start to flow from his shoulder again as he used his right arm to bring his knife down on the dog, on any part of it he could reach, but it didn't flinch; it didn't react to his blows. It was already dead.

"Daryl? Oh please Daryl—I thought they were all—_Please be ok_—"she cried, kicking the dog off of him. He grimaced but nodded at her and raised his left hand and she reached down to help him up.

"Can we get the hell outa here now?" he asked wearily, leaning heavily on her, about done. She looked up and saw almost a dozen walkers come out of the woods, attracted by the dead dogs and the activity and agreed wholeheartedly, supporting his weight, almost dragging him around to the side and seating him. She had pushed the passenger's seat back as far as it could go, hoping that would give him enough room for his leg, wanting him in the front where he could be buckled in instead of prone in the back.

She ran around the front of the car to the driver's side, but stopped as she heard what sounded like a baby's cry in front of her. She looked towards the back of the car and saw a small pup sitting beside the bitch, whimpering, nosing at her belly in distress. Its calls raised the attention of the nearby walkers.

"Shit." she bit out and she took aim at the pup, ready to silence it, but at the sound of her voice it looked right at her, cocking its head curiously and started towards her, wagging its tail.

_"Shit, shit, shit!"_ she exclaimed and turned her gun on the two closest walkers, dropping them as she scooped up the puppy and ran back to the open car door, tossing it in the back seat and slamming her door shut.

* * *

Daryl released her when he heard the soft whine of the little dog from behind them and shook his head at her. Carol reached back and picked up the small black and tan fuzz ball with big feet—it looked to be about four to six weeks old—very fat and healthy. She lifted it up to check its belly and then sat it down on Daryl's chest.

"We're _not_ callin' it Rover." he said, frowning as it busily licked at the blood and gunk on his shirt.

"Him. It's a male." Carol told him, petting its soft fur. "How about _Guts_?" she mused and Daryl rolled his eyes, but smiled.

* * *

_**Whew! **_

**I have always wondered why they don't use this admittedly disgusting camouflage technique more in the show when they have to go out amongst walkers. I mean as long as it doesn't rain, (as in the S1 Episode this chapter is named after, "Guts") or you don't start bleeding from an inconvenient flesh wound,( in S3's "Hounded") it seemed to work pretty darn well when Rick, Glenn and Michonne used it.**

**Yes, it got a bit fluffy at the end, but that's why the dog attacked, to protect its territory, mate and young which Carol and Daryl unknowingly invaded when they took shelter there. I tried to show that they felt bad about having to kill the dogs so Carol's saving the puppy from the walkers made sense. Dogs are also a traditional symbol of family loyalty.**

**And Daryl just**_** needs**_** a dog. Enough said.**


	17. Chapter 17: Philadelphia and Peachtree

_**17. Philadelphia and Peachtree**_

_**Philia**__:_ **(Gr.) love for and loyalty to friends, family, and community; it requires virtue, equality and familiarity.**

* * *

"It's not fair."

"Not my fault." Daryl said with a tiny hint of satisfaction in his voice.

_"I'm_ the one that saved him." Carol said crossly, looking over at the dark smudge of fur and paws nestled on Daryl's lap like a small fuzz covered cushion. Since they'd stopped and thrown away the tarps she'd used to cover the car seats and then peeled off and changed from their walker fouled clothes and washed up as best they could in the icy stream near the road, the pup had stuck to the injured man like Velcro.

After helping Daryl down and seating him on a low boulder near the edge of the creek, she'd gone back to get the puppy, who was also covered in gore, but when she opened the door to grab him he had leapt out and bolted straight for Daryl. Hadn't left his side since.

"And I'm sure he's grateful. I know I am." Daryl placated her.

"Because _you_ got a dog out of the deal," Carol pouted. 'Gus' was _her _puppy. Daryl's southern twang had made _guts_ sound like _Gus _so they decided to go with that as his name.

"I mean I'm grateful you saved _me_." He said quietly, reaching his left hand across the seat to her.

"I didn't..." she protested, keeping both her hands on the steering wheel. What she had done today didn't _begin_ to pay him back for coming back for her at the farm, pulling her out of the Tombs...

_"Twice,_ Calamity; dead on head shots to _both_ this little guy's folks...hey, maybe that's why he likes me-I smelled like his mom-you laid her out right on top a me..."

"He likes you because you're a good man—dogs—they can tell that kind of thing."

"His ma and pa didn't think so..." Daryl said with a snort.

"They were defending their family."

"Were _you_?" he asked, looking at her searchingly. Frowning, she glanced over at him, took his hand in hers, and then returned her eyes to the road ahead.

"How can you ask that?" she asked, "Of course you're part of my family, Daryl." They all were-the core of people who had survived from Atlanta, from the farm, and Michonne, who was special because of her ties to Andrea. Maybe someday more of the Woodbury people might be that close, but for now it was still that central few for whom she felt the binding ties, Rick, Carl, Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, Beth, Judith and of course Daryl.

"_What_ part?" he pressed, sounding so serious she frowned at his words. He looked away, out the front windshield. "When we get back, are we..." he huffed out a sigh, impatient with his inability to express what he was feeling.

"Are we _what_?" she asked, chancing a quick glance at his profile, the sharp high cheekbones and red bearded pointed chin giving his face the aspect of a clever fox, watchful, observing everyone and everything with great care.

"Are we _us?_" He squeezed her hand and then looked over at her. Not just the lonely widow Peletier. Not just the solitary redneck tracker, not just friends_...us. _He wanted them to be-he wanted them to share this life, to know she'd always be there, always look for him...always care for him and he for her.

Carol wasn't sure exactly _what_ she expected to happen when they got back to the prison. She tended not to believe in happily ever after and hadn't wanted to speculate even in her own head about how devastated she'd be if he wanted things to go back to the way they had always been between them. That could happen. He could decide that it was too much when it wasn't just the two of them, alone on the road. Maybe nothing would happen between them again until the next time they went on a run alone together-what was that old film, that play? _Same Time Next Year_?

"Please say som-thin." He said, and she could hear the anxiety in his voice.

"What does that mean to you, Daryl? Being 'us'?" she asked carefully.

"Bein' together, I guess." He thought about it, "Sleepin' together every night?"

"_Every _night? Really? I don't think even Maggie and Glenn do it _every _night..." she teased.

"You know what I meant." He returned, ducking his head shyly. This sex stuff was still new to him, but even he knew they couldn't do it every night-both be _walkin' _funny...

"Is that really what you want?" she asked softly and he nodded in affirmation.

"Good. Settled then." He said decisively.

"Settled?" she asked, still not sure exactly where he was going with this. Did he mean for her to just come to his bed every night? Or would he come to hers?

"I need to get'cha a ring." He mused, then looked thoughtful, "But down on one knee and all that? Might haft a wait on that 'til the leg heals up a little better." He chuckled and squeezed her hand again.

Carol's hands went numb. Had Daryl Dixon just asked her to marry him?

"Driftin' over the center line there a bit, honey." Daryl admonished and Carol over corrected, the wheels thumping as they left the pavement and went onto the softer gravel berm and finally the car ground to a halt. The puppy popped up his head curiously, but Daryl started stroking his back a bit awkwardly with his right hand and the little dog stretched his mouth into a big sighing yawn and settled back down.

"Daryl? What are you saying?" Carol asked, turning towards him, that little vertical brow line deep now, the grand canyon of little frown lines.

"I wanna fall asleep with you in my arms and I wanna wake up next to you every day... rest 'a my life...long as I can." Daryl told her, his voice so soft and gentle she thought she would melt just listening to it, let alone the sentiment of what he was saying to her. He watched the single tear make its way down her cheek, reached up to capture it on his index finger, and caressed the side of her face. She reached up with both hands and held his rough and callused palm to her, closing her eyes.

"Is that ok? Is it what you want too?" he asked her in that same gentle tone. "I know I ain't no great prize or nothin', but—" Carol just nodded yes, afraid she couldn't get the right words out to tell him how much she wanted it. She looked over at him, her eyes shining, releasing his hand so she could unhook her seat belt and slide over to his side. She put her arms around him, careful of both his sore shoulder and the sleeping puppy, and hugged him. He lifted her face to his and kissed her sweetly, a truly romantic kiss, promising as much as it gave. She rested her head on his chest and he kissed the top of her head.

"Just don't think yer getting' _my dog_ as a wedding present." Daryl whispered stubbornly.

* * *

"Ain't love grand?" the cynical tone warred with the words that the lanky man in the County deputy's uniform uttered in a mock jovial drawl. They stood looking at the side of the Winnebago which acted as the projection wall in this outdoor setting, watching Daryl's proposal to Carol.

"I wondered when you'd show up." Glenn sighed, sitting down on the step of the doorway to the RV. He looked around the camp; saw that it was still early days at the quarry, before Morales, before Merle and Daryl. Only five tents were pitched near the edge of the tree line, Jim, Jacqui, T-Dog, the Peletier's, and Lori and Carl's, next to which Shane had set up his sleeping bag, in front of the door, guarding them as they slept.

"Naw ya didn't. Thought I'd be some _other_ place—hanging with ol' Sparky in the basement." Shane chuckled, leaned against the side of the RV and looked down on Glenn. "Couldn't be much hotter there tho'-know what I'm sayin'? Atlanta in July, shit...or'zat yer _fever_, boy?"

"Is there a point to this?' Glenn said, tired beyond words. He'd been through the ringer...seeing his mother, his sisters, worrying about Maggie and their baby girl, trying to hold on to hope, retain the will to live...what could Shane add to that?

"It's _all_ about the _love_, little brother." he said, almost sadly. "People can use it to justify everything. Hell, I killed for it."

Glenn's head came up—he was admitting it? _The screen showed Shane and Otis running from the walkers at the high school, the shot, the struggle, and the screams as the farm manager was eaten alive..._

"So did Rick." Shane said, and the screen showed their confrontation in the moonlight that last night at the farm, "Went all _'Et tu Brutus'_ on me." _The quick jab of the knife through his ribs, the bubble of blood on his lips, Rick's anguished remorseful cries as he held his best friend, his brother, as he died._

"You tried to kill _him_—you killed Randall!" Glenn shouted.

"And high and mighty Rick's hands are clean and clear? How about those two in the bar? Tony? And the big guy?" _Rick quick drew on the bearded man behind the bar, like some Deadwood gun slinger with an itchy trigger finger and then whipped around and unloaded on the man behind him who he'd been watching in the bar mirror_.

"The convict?" Shane continued. _Rick brought his machete down on the man's head, like cracking open a coconut, wedging the blade inside._

"Maggie killed for _you_." Shane reminded him. _Glenn gave her the weapon, the broken bone of the walker that Merle had thrown in with him. She'd used it to rip out the jugular of Merle's henchman._ "And to rescue Daryl." _The Woodbury girl with the poor crossbow skills went down as they fired on the Governor's arena; hit dead center with Maggie's shot. _

"Rick even had hisself a little hallucination I was back; took out _another _one in Woodbury..." _The specter of Shane appeared out of the smoke, cocked the pump action shot gun, and strode menacingly towards Rick, who blinked, looked confused, looked like he was asking, how many times do I have to kill you, brother? but then shot him between the eyes._

"_Wood bury_—what the Governor was doin' to our friend Andrea, wasn't he?" Shane looked sly, "Don't blame 'im one bit—I'm tellin' you _what._.."

"Shut the hell up! You're worse than Merle, you know that?"

"That drug dealing douche bag? He killed his own man to keep him from tattling to the Gov. _Shit, _compare me to Merle Dixon," Shane muttered, "Asshole always out to save his _own _ass." They saw Merle and Garjulio in the clearing, heard Dixon say _"Hear that bird?"_ heard the point blank headshot. _"Gar-jew-lee-o..."_ Merle annunciated carefully as he walked away.

"No—not at the end..." Glenn couldn't believe he was defending Merle, but it was true, the elder Dixon had died trying to stop Blake...he had to get props for that at least.

"Yep—makin' my point here, son. That was for love too, wasn't it? He loved his brother. Family loyalty. Shit, even sweet little Carol was willin' to kill for love."

_"If you screw this up, mess with Daryl...I will slit your throat while you sleep." Carol told Merle in a calm quiet voice full of controlled menace, deadly serious._

Glenn's mouth dropped open and he looked back at Shane who raised an eyebrow and pointed back at the screen where Carol and Andrea stood in what had been Daryl's perch, admiring baby Judith.

_"Give him the best night of his life..." Carol said patiently, "and then when he's asleep you can end this."_

"It's what you do for the ones you love." Shane said, nodding his head in agreement, "your family."

_"Sorry about your friends, man. They were good people." Axel said to Glenn as they stood in the prison green space between the fences._

_"They were family." Glenn said angrily._

_"Part of me wished we'd have just killed all of the convicts as soon as we found them."_ _Glenn said, as he and Hershel stood at the fence while Axel and Oscar dug two more graves. "I know it's not right, but I'd trade any number of people for one of ours."_

"We all make those choices, those decisions, every day in this world." Shane said.

_"I feel like shit." Andrea said to Daryl, who was in his tent, reclining on a cot, playing with an arrow, bored out of his skull, which had been scored by the woman's rifle shot the day before._

_"You were trying to protect the group, I get that...we're good..." Daryl told her with greater equanimity than she'd expected. _

"Sometimes they work out, sometimes they don't." Shane continued.

_Rick stood with Sophia in the shallow stream bed, telling her to hide in the roots of an overturned tree while he lured the two walkers away._

_"This is how we both survive." He told her, and though obviously frightened, she nodded and did as she was told... Then she stumbled out of the barn, walking towards them and Rick faced the result of his choice and had to put it down._

"Sometimes they change our lives." Shane said, "And we don't even realize it at the time..."

_Rick, T-Dog, and Daryl stood over the table full of guns in the office building where Merle had been stranded. Their captive, the skinny young vato kid, sat slumped against the wall._

_"Question is, what're you willin' to bet on it? Could be more'n those guns...could be your life. Glenn worth that to you?" asked Daryl._

_"What life I have I owe to him-I was nobody to Glenn...just some idiot stuck in a tank-he could've walked away, but he didn't...neither will I." he looked at T-Dog and Daryl. "There's nothing keeping you two here, you should get out, head back to camp."_

_"And tell your family what?" T-Dog asked, leaning back against the wall. Rick looked meaningfully at Daryl, a beat passed, then two and finally Daryl nodded grimly and picked up a shot gun._

"That was it -the start for Daryl. When he started to think Rick was someone he could follow. And then they came for you then, didn't they? They were willing to kill for you; die for you." Shane said. "I did what I had to do to save Carl...to save Lori...to protect the group. And I'd do it again."

* * *

"We're coming in from the north-what's the best idea for our first stop?" Carol asked.

"I'd say the vet clinic here on the corner of Philadelphia and Peachtree-good lord, I thought Atlanta had enough streets, alleys and ditches named _peach_ som-thin', this damn town's got-"

"Where do I _turn,_ Daryl?" Carol interrupted, slowing. They were coming to a three way intersection, the east bound lane blocked by an overturned cream yellow Schwan's delivery truck which was flush against the side of the concrete overpass. Daryl looked up from the map she had marked earlier with the possible scavenging sites. He got a sour look on his face.

"East, a' course." He grunted.

"I think I can get around it on the left." She told him, reaching down briefly to make sure her belt was buckled. There was a steep drop off into a canal on that side with barely enough room for the Hyundai between in and the frozen food truck. Daryl put his hand on the puppy's back, twining his fingers through the strip of red bandana he'd placed around Gus' neck as a collar.

"Ready." He told her and she eased the car forward.

Carol concentrated on the left side, grimacing as she heard the scrape of metal on metal on the right as she cut it a little too tight to the truck.

"Yer fine." Daryl assured her, "Don't stop, you'll lose momentum." It felt like they were playing a giant game of _Operation_, except if they drifted too far left they'd be rolling down the hill instead of just hearing the ugly buzz and losing a turn.

Carol refused to look left and gave it a bit more gas and then they were through. She let out her breath in a whoosh and looked over at a grinning Daryl, relieved, but a shadow and sudden movement in the window behind him made her recoil, and then the window shattered.

* * *

"Shit!" Glenn exclaimed as the screen went dark and he swung around to look at Shane, who was raising his POLICE ball cap off of his head to wipe at his sweaty brow. "Are they ok? What happens?"

"No body's ever safe, Glenn, you oughta know that by now." Shane pulled his ball cap back down tight, and then hitched his thumbs in his belt loops as he cocked his head at the younger man. Glenn launched himself at the cocky deputy, slamming him against the side of the Winnebago.

"God damn you-you _know_, you can _see_! Tell me!"

"Rules, son." Shane said gently. "I only know what _might_ happen. All up to them; their choices, their will, maybe how much they're willin' to sacrifice to save you."

* * *

_**Angsty there at the end I know, but hey! They made it to Senoia!**_

_**Shane has always interested me as a character because he showed such depth-Jon Berenthal did a marvelous job of portraying how conflicted the guy was. The tenderness as he wiped Carl's blood off of Rick's face with his bandana, the way he found and cared for Carol after she ripped apart the Cherokee Roses, playing with Carl catching frogs, desperately trying to get Rick out of the hospital-all of those scenes showed who he had been, how much he could made his disintgration into obsession and madness all the more poignant.**_

_**Update: I just went back and watched S1"Vatos" and so corrected some of the dialogue in this taken from that episode, which I had done in the first draft from memory. Other than that this is the same as the 1st version posted.**_

_**Loving your reviews! Thanks to the guest reviewers since I can't PM you directly & big hugs to all of you who take the time to comment! I really appreciate it. I always try to go to your profiles and have discovered some beautifully written things there!**_


	18. 18: The river flows and the wind blows

_**18. The river flows and the wind blows...**_

_**Glenn makes a parliamentary inquiry and Carol and Daryl meet up with some unexpected people from the past.**_

* * *

"I hear we have an appeal to the rules." An unfamiliar but pleasantly jocular voice said behind Glenn. He turned and saw a man of average height, with a kind round face bordered by brown hair and beard, who was regarding him with a smile.

They were back at the CDC, this time in the large circular control room from which Jenner had monitored their arrival, shown them the scenes of TS-19's death and rebirth as a walker and had almost killed them all.

"And who in the _hell_ are you?" Glenn asked warily. The man winked at him and took his right hand out of his pocket to point skyward.

"_Other _direction, Glenn." He grinned and leaned his butt back onto the control panel behind him. Glenn blinked and staggered back, falling into one of the wheeled office chairs scattered around the dais.

"God?"

"Supreme being, creator, most high...but you can call me Bob." He said in that same maddeningly jovial voice, adding a quiet chuckle at the end.

"Bob?"

"Sounds friendlier than Yaweh or Jehovah or Allah, doesn't it?" he said reasonably. "I like to be accessible; it's a more casual age, after all."

"More casual? It's the _fucking apocalypse_!" Glenn yelled incredulously, leaning forward, gripping the arms of the chair as he fought down sudden nausea. He stared at the bland man in his plaid shirt and baggy jeans-he reminded him of that guy on _Tool Time_, the side-kick Al- innocuous, easy going to the point of insolence.

"Take it easy now, son. That's not so good for your blood pressure. You got enough problems. No point in blowin' an artery too." Again he chuckled pleasantly.

"So is this fucked up shithole of a world is your idea of a _joke_?" Glenn asked sarcastically, barely holding onto his shit, "_Entertaining,_ is it?"

"Now Glenn, it's not _my_ world-it's yours. Yours and everyone else who lives and acts within it. I made it, but it belongs to _you_ now." He pointed towards the large screen at the end of the room. "I subscribe to the concept of the multi-verse view of time. Think of it like a river. Every decision you make creates a new branch, a new tributary, a new stream, a new universe." On the screen his description played out in graphics similar to the branching neurons of the brain that they had all been shown by the CDC doctor.

"So the possibilities are endless..." Glenn said, trying not to be awed.

"No, the _universes _are endless." the smiling being said. "It's not just that the path you chose creates reality-you also made _all_ of the other possible choices and created a universe based on each of those decisions. The Universes aren't _alternates_; they are each just as real as the one you're living in right now."

As he described the other scenarios, they each played out on the screen in front of them.

"In one of them the dead never rose, you never dropped out of college, you saved your father because you were there when he had his heart attack; you met Amy on spring break in Florida..."

Glenn smiled as he saw himself bringing Amy home to meet his family, his mother unsure about this blonde blue eyed beauty but his father and sisters welcoming her warmly.

"In another a man named Negan splits your head open with a club while your friends watch..." The screen showed a burly man march up and down a kneeling line of bound people Glenn recognized and some he didn't, saw himself being drug forward, then the shattering blow that destroyed his skull making a hollow crack and slosh like dropping a watermelon from a great height.

Both stories the deity told had been spun in the same uncomplicated, easy going tone, but this time Glenn's stomach rebelled in horror, watching his own shocking death, seeing Rick and the others' anguish and guilt...and he doubled over and vomited onto the hard shiny marble floor.

"They are _all_ happening..._all at once_." Bob said a bit more gently. He came to stand next to Glenn, waving his hand and vanishing the mess on the floor, putting his hand on Glenn's shoulder and then handing him a damp towel and a bottle of Gatorade.

Glenn hesitated, but eventually accepted the proffered help. He wiped his face then and unscrewed the cap of the plastic bottle, taking a deep drink of the green liquid.

"Better?" Bob asked and Glenn nodded, resting the bottle on his thigh, looking back up at the now darkened screen.

"So there are thousands...millions of me out there..." Glenn whispered, "Of _you._.."

"Nope-only one of me. I'm the source, the constant, the wellspring of ideas as it were." Bob said with a bit of self satisfaction.

"So there is no _fate_? No way of knowing what will happen next...literally everything that can happen..." Glenn said, trying to wrap his mind around it.

"Will happen...has happened..._is_ happening..." he said affably, and the screen showed Glenn lying on his bunk at the prison, Maggie holding his hand as Hershel took soaking wet towels from a bucket Beth held and draped them over his body. Carl stood solemnly outside the cell, watching, with his hand on the handle of his holstered gun.

"Each choice leads to the next one-and of course every other life you touch is also affected and they are making their own choices as well." A chart showing the actions and interactions of one person's life coming into contact with others and that effect multiplying like bacteria, like a virus, soon filling the screen.

"But _you _can change things-you made it, you can alter it, right?" Glenn asked, sounding desperate, grasping for any sort of sense of control.

"I set it in motion, I created the possibilities, but it's free will, Glenn-your choices determine your path...you write your _own _story. It's a self perpetuating perpetual motion machine with a life of its own..." he rubbed his hands together and laughed gleefully, "Isn't it marvelous?"

"The universe is run by a mad man..." Glenn said softly, sounding hopeless and horrified.

"Mad _men_...and women." Bob corrected, "This one's yours. And I can't wait to see what happens next." He said, like a little kid excited about the next episode of his favorite TV show coming on after a long hiatus. He settled into a chair next to Glenn, passing him bowl of popcorn, sucking down on the straw of a Big Gulp with Glenn's picture on the side and then, smiling in anticipation, turned to the screen.

* * *

Carol looked over at a grinning Daryl, relieved that they had made it through the narrow passage, but a shadow and sudden movement in the window behind him made her recoil, and then the window shattered. Daryl bent his body towards her, shielding her, but the head of the man framed in the window behind him holding a sledgehammer suddenly seemed to implode, disappear in a cloud of pink. They heard more gun shots and screams, yelling and then another face, a youth, appeared, this time tapping quietly but urgently on Carol's side window.

"_Seňora?_ Hey! You ok, Lady?" the young guy asked. Wild eyed, Carol raised her gun and the kid ducked down out of her lines of fire.

"I wouldn't do that, _mamacita_." Another voice, this one coming through the shattered window behind Daryl, said quietly, and she heard the click of a gun being cocked. Daryl sat up, the tiny cubes of safety glass tumbling off of him as he righted himself. Gus growled with all the menace that 10 pounds of fur and fang could muster as he looked up at the man with the gun. As the men looked into each other's faces, recognition dawned.

"That you, _puto_?" he asked, "Hey G!" he called, "It's that redneck Robin Hood shot me in the ass in AT!"

"Felipe?" Daryl said, hoping he was recalling the heavy set mustachioed man's name correctly. It had been almost three years since they had stormed into the Vatos headquarters to rescue Glenn.

"Hey _pendejo_!" the younger man cried happily, coming around the front of the car to stand next to Felipe. "Where'd you get the puppy, man? Can I hold it?" Gus barked a high pitched vicious puppy bark as the kid leaned longingly towards him.

"Miguelito, don't be up in the man's face." A third voice, a honeyed warm one, ordered the young Hispanic. The Vatos leader, Guillermo, known as 'G' moved into the front of the group, the other two giving way for him. He held out his hand to Daryl and they clasped them in a tight grip. Seeing this, the pup calmed and sat down on Daryl's leg.

"G." Daryl said, nodding in greeting.

"You want to tell your woman we're old friends, _ese_? She looks like she'd sooner shoot me than meet me." G said dryly and Daryl glanced over at Carol who still held her gun pointed at the three men outside the car.

"It's ok, Carol-I know them-from Atlanta." Daryl said, but she still looked uncertain. Daryl reached his hand over to her, "Sweetheart, we're _ok_-these are good guys." He said more quietly and she frowned at him, but lowered the gun slowly, keeping it on her lap, ready, as she watched them warily.

Miguel chuckled and bumped Felipe's shoulder with his.

"Ugly puto like him gets a _fine _woman _and_ a dog-we must not be livin' right, _primo_!" the kid teased. Carol blushed at being called "fine" and Daryl's mouth quirked, a bit proudly.

"You ok to drive?" G asked suddenly, looking around them. "We need to head out. More raiders be coming to see what happened to these ones."

"That what we walked into?" Daryl asked, knowing an ambush when he saw one. G nodded.

"They stake out these bottlenecks into town, look for newcomers, steal, rape, kill. We patrol, but there's a lot of 'em. Need to move out now, you with us?"

"Lead the way." Daryl agreed, hoping that they really did have a place of safety where they could regroup and figure out what to do next.

"We're set up at a vet clinic nearby-Felipe will lead you in-got a few surprises there if you don't go in right." G said, smiling and winking. They heard the high wine of a 4 stroke engine starting and saw Miguel jump start one of three KTM and Honda dirt bikes that they'd left on the bank when they'd leapt into the fray to save Carol and Daryl. The bodies of 5 other men lay scattered around the underpass, all head shot except the one next to the passenger side of the Hyundai, who was simply just missing his head, vaporized by a shotgun blast at close range.

G and Miguel shouldered their weapons and headed out in the opposite direction, continuing their patrol; while Felipe waved the green car on to follow him.

"I thought you and Rick said they were all dead." Carol said to Daryl as she drove behind the bike. They had gone to the nursing home headquarters of the Vatos in Atlanta after the CDC, seeking a safe harbor but had found a dark one instead. It was overrun by walkers feasting on the bodies of the elderly residents and young men alike.

They'd had no choice but to spend the night there, and Carol remembered the horrible closed in feeling-almost worse than she'd felt at the CDC...and then she realized that the whole time in the storm cellar, even during the _less_ wonderful parts, her fear of tight spaces hadn't bothered her at all...she glanced over at the man beside her. _Daryl Dixon: cure for all your fears..._

"Not like we took a census." Daryl grumbled. He hadn't really wanted to look into the faces of the murdered men and women to see if he recognized any of them; didn't need that on top of everything else they were dealing with at the time. That at least three of the young men had survived heartened him though, it was a good sign, after everything else that had happened on this eventful run.

He closed his eyes and sighed; almost every inch of his body was throbbing in pain. Then he slit open his eyes and looked over at Carol. He huffed out a grunt. If he had to get this fucked up to balance out having her, he figured it was a pretty damn good trade off.

"Well, I guess we'll get the whole story soon." Carol said, smiling at him as she carefully maneuvered the car between the abandoned vehicles on the road in front of them. Gus barked once and climbed up higher onto Daryl's chest, into the crook of his upraised sheltering arm, so he could stick his head up and feel the breeze coming through the open window, smelling the air, seeing which way the wind was blowing.

* * *

_**So yes, I got a bit metaphysical in this one and tweaked the wonderful Mr. Kirkman, all done with love, oh great creator of all things TWD! He and AMC own everything, I'm just spinning out my own little universe here...**_

_**As I re-watched "Vatos" and then the long deleted sequence (which made me **__**very**__** sad) of them returning to the nursing home after the CDC exploded that was cut from the S3 premiere I didn't see G, Miguel or Felipe, so in my head canon they survived. **_

_**Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think. Thanks!**_


	19. Chapter 19: El Bribon

_**A bit of respite and down time for Carol and Daryl to regroup and get some healing help.**_

* * *

_19. El Bribón_

Daryl handed Gus to Carol after she helped him out of the car, both of them looking at the heavily fortified compound in front of them. Felipe had led them through a labyrinth of narrow high walls created out of cars, trucks and stock trailers. There seemed to be several switch backs and dead ends, some with menacing looking drop traps above them, as well as caltrop spiked chains ready to be raised, similar to the system Michonne had devised at the prison. They had shared an uneasy look as each new defensive measure rolled by them. What kind of threat were they needing this much protection against? Walkers weren't the only or maybe even the _main_ issue here in Senoia.

"Angel! Need a hand out here-got an injured man!" Felipe called, pronouncing the name in the Spanish way_, 'ahn-hel,'_ as the garage door closed behind them. They'd been told to drive the Hyundai into the largest of the three buildings when it had opened and found themselves in a large open garage space where several more dirt bikes and a late model pickup truck were parked.

A slim dark haired young woman dressed in black jeans, white tank and black leather vest with a red bandana tied around her right upper arm came out of the door in the rear of the room, rifle raised, striding forward confidently.

"Where's G_, mi hermano_?" she said suspiciously, looking both Carol and Daryl up and down.

"He and Miguelito are finishing rounds-these are friends from the AT-put the gun down _Angelita_." He said in a no nonsense tone.

"He bit?" she said suspiciously, using the gun to point to his shoulder wound, blood seeping through the dressing Carol had reapplied after they'd cleaned up earlier.

"Canine, not walker." Carol said, holding puppy up for her to see. "This little guy's dad." Gus cocked his head at her and yapped out a sharp bark, announcing he was most definitely not a walker.

The girl slowly lowered the gun.

"Raiders?" she asked, gesturing at Daryl's leg.

"Nah-he was this fucked up before _los lobos_ got there." Felipe snorted. "Grab a gurney-_rapido, chica_!" Angel laid the rifle down on a work bench and briefly left the room, returning with a wheeled metal table.

"Don't need no-"Daryl protested, but Carol made him stand still and released her hold on him briefly. His weight was suddenly shifted to his broken leg for an agonizing few seconds before she came back under his arm and he bit out few choice words about the incestuous relationships of everyone in the room to their mothers.

_"Daryl Dixon!"_ Carol scolded, and then laughed at his sheepish expression.

"Sorry." He muttered and let himself be lowered onto the gurney. Carol moved to help him raise his legs onto it, but Felipe was already there.

"I can-" she protested, not wanting anyone else's hands on him.

"He's a nurse." Daryl told her, and then he passed out.

* * *

"He will be fine, _Señora _Dixon." Angel said gently. Carol was standing outside the glass windowed room where Felipe was checking the x-ray images he'd taken of Daryl's leg. She had her arms wrapped around Gus and held him tight against her torso, a self-hug of sorts, with comforting warm puppy. She looked over at Angel in surprise and then smiled. It wouldn't hurt to let the girl think that Daryl was her husband...

"Carol." She told her, holding out her hand. "Thank you." Angel grasped it warmly and they shook. Carol looked around them, at the medical facility full of shelves piled high with supplies. "Quite the set up you have here."

"Yeah, we're a regular _General Hospital_..." the girl said wryly. "That's why we're locked up like Fort Knox." Carol gave her a curious look.

"You don't sound too happy about that."

"My brother wants to save the world. I just want to live another day without getting eaten by _los_ _pendejos Chupacabras caminantes…" _she said bitterly. Carol's Spanish was limited and so she looked confused. Angel translated, "goat sucking asshole walkers," making Carol laugh.

"How long have you been here?" Carol asked, leaning back against the glass, petting Gus' head.

"I worked at the canning factory—peaches—what else is there in this state?" she said dryly. "Felipe and Miguel came looking for me after what happened in the AT last year." She looked sad, dispirited at the thought of the wholesale slaughter that had been perpetrated on the helpless residents of the home.

"How did they get out?" Carol asked. "I saw that place…right after…" she added.

"After Miguelito let himself get grabbed up, G was pissed and so he and Felipe took him out on a training run. Got pinned down by walkers and by the time they got back to the home it had all gone down. Miguel still has nightmares…every night…" Angel looked haunted.

"I'm sorry." Carol said, knowing that it had been Daryl who had captured Miguel, inadvertently saving the three men's lives.

"So what happened to you? _Dogs,_ you said?" Angel asked, reaching her hand out for Gus to sniff. He looked at it suspiciously and cuddled back in to Carol's chest.

"Bad choice of a bolt hole last night-underground storm cellar-his pack had its den on the other side and attacked us when we tried to leave this morning. Daryl got knocked down the steps, dog bit, broke his leg..." she sighed.

"And your head." Angel added, looking at the deep purple bruise tinged with yellow on Carol's forehead. She'd almost forgotten about that. Had it really only been yesterday that they'd escaped from the huge herd? They'd been gone less than twenty-four hours.

"I'm fine." She said dismissively. Angel frowned and tilted her head at the older woman.

"So how'd you get out? Your man there couldn't even walk..."

"We managed." Carol said evasively, embarrassed to be under such scrutiny. She'd done what she had to do to save Daryl and herself.

"So why are you on the road? G always said the guys that gave him the guns were part of a much bigger group...are they..." she let her voice trail off, not wanting to bring up any painful losses for Carol.

"One of our group, Glenn, the one who was with Daryl and Rick in Atlanta when they met up with G..._and T-Dog..._T was there!," she added quickly, angry at herself for leaving him out-she loved T...he'd died for her...and she ducked her head to fight the tears threatening.

"Glenn, Daryl, Rick and T-Dog-got it." Angel said gently, nodding. She backed up and carried two chairs over to where Carol was standing and plopped herself down on one. Carol heard the movement and looked up and then gratefully sank into the chair.

"Glenn needs surgery-his appendix-so we're out trying to find the equipment our doctor needs to do the operation." Carol told her, not yet negotiating, letting it sink in first. They might have just come to the only place that had everything they needed. She wanted to stay on this girl's good side.

_Gus started squirming, wanting down so he could investigate this new space and find his boss-the man that smelled like meat and momma. The woman smelled like him too, she was ok, but the man was better._

Carol struggled to hold him.

"He's ok-nothing he can get into." Angel said.

"He's not housebroken." Carol warned.

"Neither is Miguelito." Angel said with a laugh. Then she popped her hand against the side of her head like the people in V-8 ads. "You realize what this place was, don't you?" she asked and then jumped up. Carol frowned.

"A Vet clinic, right?" Carol asked and Angel nodded and grinned and took off at a jog down one of the rows of shelves behind her. Gus watched her, whining softly. After a couple of minutes the girl came back holding a 20 lb. bag of Science Diet puppy food and a shiny chrome dog dish. She sliced open the top of the bag with a rather wicked looking switchblade she produced from her pocket and poured the small smelly nuggets of doggie dinner into the bowl. Gus' quick nose zeroed in almost immediately and he struggled so fiercely that Carol released him to the floor.

_Smelled good...Gus thought, sidling over towards the bowl...but the newer woman was still too odd to him to trust, so he danced back to Carol, sat on her feet and yapped out a frustrated bark._

Angel looked disappointed, but retreated to her chair, leaving the bowl across the room by itself. Carol nudged the pup off her feet and this time he crept forward as if he was stalking the bowl, his nose engaged, testing the air.

"He's a hunter." Angel whispered to Carol as they watched the little dog's progress.

"Just like someone else I know." Carol smiled, looking back over her shoulder at Daryl who was now sitting up and talking to Felipe. Angel followed her gaze.

"You two together before the Turn?" Angel asked, curious. With her grey hair the soft spoken petite woman looked a bit older than the rugged man she was with.

"No." Carol said. "I lost my husband to walkers...my...daughter. Daryl was there for me." She smiled fondly, watching Gus, thinking of the changes in her and the tracker's relationship over the last three years...over the last day...

"I lost everyone except these three _Vatos._" Angel said, nodding towards Felipe. "I'd be dead if they hadn't come back." She got a faraway look in her eyes. "Raiders took me." She added quietly. Carol's head snapped up, remembering what G had said, "_steal, kill...rape."_ Carol reached her right hand across to the girl's, her finger tips just brushing the back of her clenched fist. Angel startled back slightly, looked down at the gentle gesture and then sighed, letting Carol's fingers run against her hand.

"If you ever need to talk...I've...I've been through it too." Carol told her in the same soothing voice she would've used to quiet Sophia after a night terror. Angel's head came up at that admission, her eyes like those of a wounded animal, not understanding what she had done wrong to deserve this horrible pain.

"Felipe tries...but he doesn't really understand." She said softly, all traces of the bravado she'd fronted earlier now gone. "They had me for a month." She whispered, but before Carol could respond, Felipe came out of the room behind them.

"Well, Bones, you did a real nice job setting it," he said to Carol admiringly. "Need to decide if you want a cast or just leave it splinted."

Carol blinked at him.

"I'm no doctor." Carol demurred. "Do what you think is best."

"Heal better, stronger with a cast-make him stay off it better too." He said as if he knew that would be a battle for her. She smiled at him and looked back into the room, saw Daryl grimacing as he stretched out his sore shoulder-she frowned-he'd pull the stitches again if he kept that up.

"Cast." She said, nodding, and he grinned at her.

"You offer her anything to eat or did you just feed _el bribón_ there?" Felipe asked Angel. Carol raised an eyebrow at the new term for the puppy that was still busy chowing down like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

"Varmint." Angel translated for her, but Felipe demurred.

"_Rascal." _the nurse corrected, and then looked back at Daryl who frowned at him sourly in return. "Like his master, I think, eh?" he looked back to Carol who just sighed. Trying to keep that man still long enough to heal was going to be a challenge.

"Y'all done jawin' out there?" Daryl bellowed, starting to get off of the table. He wanted his woman and he wanted his dog. _Now._

"Where do you think you're going?" Felipe yelled, quickly moving to intercept him. Carol followed him in, almost tripping over Gus, who made a beeline for Daryl as well. Carol went to Daryl's side, supporting him as he subsided back down into a seated position on the table and then she bent down and scooped up the puppy and handed him over. Gus started licking Daryl's cheek, making Carol smile.

"You must not taste as sour as you sound, _pendejo_." Felipe mused and Daryl raised an eye brow at Carol, who blushed furiously and huffed out a little sigh at him. He reached out and took her hand in his, running his thumb over her knuckles, needing to touch her. Felipe chuckled as he watched their little interplay. It was obvious these two shared a deep bond.

"What's the hold up, Phil?" Daryl said, anglicizing and shortening the man's name.

"Felipe needs to get the stuff ready to make your cast, Daryl." Carol told him.

"Cast? _No fu-"_ he paused as she glared at him, and he lamely finished,"uh-no way!"

"It won't heal right if we don't. You need to be back at 100% right?" she reasoned. And then she did something so underhanded he wouldn't have believed it of her. She raised his hand to her chest, letting his fingers rest on her cleavage, where her breasts met and rounded. She leaned up and whispered in his ear, _"You can't take care of us if you're not healed." _She told him in a low voice, pulling back to look at him; her finest wet doe eyed stare reducing him to idiocy. _"Please Daryl..." _and then sheleaned forward and kissed him, her lips soft and moist, her tongue tracing the curve of his lower lip before plunging inside to find his, her hand rising to cup his cheek, to angle his face to deepen the kiss. He moaned, unable to pull her closer, one hand full of puppy and the other trapped between their bodies, her breasts enticingly smushed up against it.

"_Jesus,_ puto! Get a room!" came a snorting, sarcastic exclamation from the door way. Miguel and G had returned.

Carol released him, but Daryl got in one final kiss and then rested his forehead on hers.

"Fine. Cast me." he said quietly, sighing.

"Need to get him cleaned up first—I don't want to risk infection on that shoulder either. You two know you smell like death warmed over, right?" Felipe said.

"Keeps the walkers off you." Daryl told him, turning to look over at the three standing in the doorway. Angel and Miguel looked disbelieving, but G looked like he was mulling it over.

"No shit?" Miguel asked.

"You smell like them—" Carol began.

"They ignore you." G finished, nodding, "Makes sense."

"So there were dogs _and _walkers?" Angel asked, looking at Carol with new respect. Daryl looped his arm around Carol's shoulders, pulling her close and pressed a kiss to her bruised temple.

"She got us out." he said with pride. Carol didn't say anything, just looked embarrassed, stared at the floor.

"Vet that owned this place was a sustainability nut: we got a well." G said, smiling. "Solar cells on the roof heats the water and a windmill gives us power—how's a hot shower sound?"

"Like heaven." Carol admitted, looking up at the somehow dignified young man gratefully. G nodded and came forward. Daryl looked less pleased; he'd washed once today, what else did they want?

"It's actually a dog wash in the grooming area, but works fine for people too. Problem is it's a bit of a walk from here..." he said, and Daryl made his displeased face again, anticipating the next.

"Your chariot awaits." Felipe said with a smirk, wheeling the gurney over to the table. "Hop on," he told Carol and Daryl, "two for one deal."

"Three." Carol said, holding Gus as she sat down on the silver gurney. "Hot water awaits." she told Daryl. And somehow the expectant way she was looking at him made him realize that people didn't take showers with their clothes _on,_ did they?

Daryl let the nurse and G help him back onto the gurney.

* * *

Gus got his bath and blow dry first and to the boy's delight allowed Miguel_, (Puppy brother? the little dog wondered to himself_) with the added enticement of some fancy dog biscuits, to take him outside to play and potty.

The dog wash area consisted of basically a shower which had its floor at table height, where the dog could be placed so the groomer could comfortably stand while washing it. It was actually perfect for Daryl's leg injury because he could just sit in the open shower stall, leaning against the back wall while Carol used the shower spray to wash him.

Carol had to help him undress. When they got his shirt off, she was almost in tears again when she saw the ugly bruises blossoming under his scars on his back from his fall down the cement staircase.

"You'll have some new scars to remember this little adventure by." she mused sadly as she looked over his stitched shoulder.

"_Hey."_ he said softly, stopping her by closing his hand around her wrist. "You think I could _ever _forget this trip?" he said, his voice taking on that now familiar low rumbling timbre that made her stomach do flips. That was his _sexy_ voice... "Pretty_ eventful_ so far...lotsa interesting new things..."

"He is an awfully nice dog." Carol said, teasing; "Felipe says he's a_ bribón... _like you._"_ and Daryl surprised her by laughing.

"Think I'm a _rascal_ do ya?" he chuckled, pulling her closer. She put her hands on his chest.

"Just how much Spanish do you know?" she asked him curiously.

"My daddy liked watching _los luchadores_—Mexican wrestling—picked up a little." He'd also learned a bit about Mexican superstitions from some of his father's drinking buddies and fellow wrestling aficionados, who had terrified him with tales of the _chupacabra_ when he'd been a kid.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you." she smiled up at him.

"Just like you, babe." he said.

"_Babe_?" she raised an eyebrow at the new term of endearment.

"Gonna keep slippin' 'em in—see which ones stick." he winked at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Pants." she said in a no nonsense tone, pushing off his chest. For the x-ray, Felipe had been able to fold back the pants leg that she had slit open to set the leg, so Daryl hadn't had to remove his dungarees.

"You sayin' you wanna get in my _pants_, missy?" he rumbled, and her hands moved to his waist, finding the buckle of the leather belt that he'd kept punching new holes in during the long cold winter last year. He was lean, hard with well earned muscle, not the kind you'd get in a gym work out, but the ones that came with long hours of running, fighting, and the back breaking hard work making the prison into a livable home.

"Need to check those scratches—wouldn't want them to get infected either." She flirted, but said it in her best clinical nurse voice as she slid the belt through the buckle, found the button and opened it, then the zipper, sliding it down tooth by tooth. She raised her other hand to his hard abs, feeling his sharp intake of breath at her touch, slid it around to the side of his waist and then to the small of his back, pushing under the waistband of his pants and black briefs.

Daryl felt his pants loosen, start to slide down his hips, helped by the glide of her hand down over the curve of his ass. He loved it when she took control like this, knew it must be so different for her from what she'd had before. She'd proved to him over and over how strong she was, what a survivor; she'd made it through a marriage that would've killed most women, kept going even through the death of her only child, the loss of so many of her best friends—her new family—and still she kept on.

She continued to pull his pants down and when they reached his thighs she pushed him to sit on the bench-like wooden slats at the bottom of the shower, relieving the broken leg of any need to support his weight. She carefully worked the cloth over the splinted left leg and then tugged off the right side pants leg until he sat naked in the shower stall. Neither of them spoke while she turned on the water and held the shower hose, testing the temperature of the water on her arm.

"Close your eyes and lean your head back." she ordered quietly, and he obeyed and then felt the warm spray on the crown of his head, her other hand gently kneading the hair to wet it thoroughly. The water was taken away then and he felt a chilled sensation as she worked the cooler shampoo in. It had a slightly medicinal smell.

"Well, you won't have to worry about ticks or fleas," she told him with a chuckle. All that they had left was dog shampoo. He snorted. "Bottle says it does have conditioners in it though." she added, beginning a massaging rub on his scalp that left him floating, light headed.

"Feels good," Daryl said shyly, unused to having someone do such a thing for him. He'd thought this was another chance for them to screw around...but this was something more. This was her_ caring_ for him.

"Good." she said, smiling, continuing the gentle firm movement of her fingers against his scalp. She remembered back when her hair had been long, down to her shoulders, how much she had enjoyed going to the beauty salon, how the stylist would do this for her during the shampoo.

She had loved her long curly hair, been quite vain about it when she was a girl. Ed had loved it too; it was one of the things he'd first complimented her about when they'd started dating. Later it had been a convenient handhold for him when he threw her against the floor or the wall. On the night she'd first tried to refuse him he'd used it to drag her kicking and screaming up the stairs to show her "what." She'd taken her sewing shears to it the morning after, glaring at him defiantly when he came home that night. The broken jaw he'd given her as punishment had been worth it.

It was only in the last year that she'd allowed it to start to grow back, saw it start to curl around her nape and ears again after so many years of chopping it back, like the way she'd cut herself off from hope. She smiled to herself. Daryl's hair was probably still longer than hers now though. He hadn't cut it since Merle died.

Carol turned the spray back on and began to rinse, but she felt him shiver.

"Sorry—too cold?" she asked, touching his shoulder and then adjusting the temperature dial to add more hot water.

"Naw—no—it's fine." he rasped out, knowing she thought he'd shivered, but he hadn't, he'd trembled, trying to stop himself from crying, realizing that the last person who had done this for him had been his momma...the last person to have loved him without reservation or conditions. He'd promised himself he'd never let anyone else be that important to him again, but hadn't been able to stop from making Merle his center, his touchstone. And now it was this little woman. Would he lose her the same as he'd lost his mother and his brother?

Carol finished rinsing his hair and wet a washcloth so she could wipe away the suds that had slipped down onto his face, washing it in the process, passing the cloth over his scrunched up brow and eyes held tightly shut, and then the rest of his angular face that she so adored looking at. She was surprised when he suddenly pulled her into his arms and just held her close, his head buried in the crook of her shoulder, his chest heaving with irregular breaths. Carol let the washcloth fall and embraced him as well, a bit puzzled. This wasn't seduction...this was something different, his hands were fisted in the back of her shirt, but he made no move to remove it, nor to kiss her, just held her tightly, as if he was afraid she'd vanish if he let go.

"Sorry—got you all wet..." he mumbled, releasing her, unable to explain what had just come over him, looking at her soaked front.

"Wouldn't be the first time." she said softly, resting her hands on his shoulders, her eyes full of mischief, meeting his. He couldn't quite shift gears so quickly, but he knew he urgently needed to kiss her.

The kiss didn't match her playful tone; it was too intense, too passionate, too desperate. It set her on fire, igniting a need to have him right _now_, her hands finding his cock, hard and ready, rising up between their bodies. He found her button and zipper and ripped them open, shoving the fabric of the jeans and her panties down over her ass and then lifting her at the waist so she could kick them off. His right hand moved to her cleft, making sure she was ready for him, groaning as he found she was and he turned her in his arms, positioning her the same way he had on the stairs in the storm cellar, her back to him, her gorgeous ass bumping up against his belly as he lifted her up and then down onto his cock.

Carol felt him push inside her, crying out at the rush of sensations when he hit some bundle of nerves she hadn't ever felt before as he went deep at this different angle. He stripped her blouse from her and then didn't even attempt the bra clasp, just pulled it up and off over her head, making her laugh. His fingers found her nipples, pinching and rolling them and she whimpered, tightening on him, making him gasp. She reached out and held onto the sides of the shower stall so she could lift herself up and down; riding him, knowing his bad leg meant he had limited mobility for thrusting in this position. He groaned loud and long as he realized what she was doing.

To thank her, Daryl moved his right hand to her center, sliding his fingers inside, excited by the feeling of his shaft pumping in and out as she lifted herself up and down on him, finding her swollen bud drawn taut, stretched tight by how fully he filled her. He fluttered his finger tips across it and she leaned back so her head was on his shoulder, her mouth to his ear.

"Please, Daryl –_oh god please_..." she moaned and he increased the speed and intensity of his touch, taking her higher and higher. He could feel her trembling become more violent and knew she was close, so he eased off, making her whimper and buck her butt back against him in protest. He kissed the side of her cheek and began again, building, until she screamed and convulsed around him, her orgasm so violent that it ripped his from him as well; making him cry out in a whimpering yell, his back arching up and then he reached his left hand back to the wall of the shower for support so he didn't pitch them both backwards.

Breathing hard, light headed, he sat back up, wrapping his right arm around her chest above her breasts and his left around her waist, holding her back against him.

"What _was _that?" she breathed, overwhelmed by the intensity of what had just happened between them. Their first time last night had been wonderful, but this had been raw, _hot._

"I think," he growled, and she felt him grinning as he nuzzled against the side of her face, his voice going all soft and sexy, "I think with you and me it's just gonna keep getting _better_."

* * *

"Bend over."

"The_ hell_?" Daryl exclaimed, looking at the big man who had just finished putting the plaster cast on his leg. Carol had gone with Angel and G to look at her inventory of the medical supplies in preparation for their negotiations over the trade for them.

"Antibiotics—you need one shot now and two more over the next two days. Dog's mouths are cleaner than humans, but you were also covered in stuff that contained god knows what bacteria." Felipe said in a serious, even concerned tone. Grumbling, muttering a few choice swear words under his breath, Daryl leaned over the table, supporting himself with his palms pressed against its surface, his bare ass hanging out of the hospital gown he'd been made to don after his shower so the nurse could more easily cast his leg.

Felipe grinned as he stabbed the large bore syringe into the meat of Daryl's cheek and pressed down the plunger.

"Shit!" Daryl bit out, standing back up and rubbing at the stinging injection site with his hand. "I gotta get stuck like that for the next two days?"

"Nah. Carol can give it in your arm." Felipe told him.

Daryl raised his eyebrows and cocked his head in disbelief.

"Payback's a bitch, _bribón_." Felipe laughed, brandishing the wicked looking syringe.

"_Fuck you."_ Daryl muttered, but chuckled. He imagined that getting a bolt in the ass had sucked for Felipe as much as when he'd been skewered by his own arrow in his headlong plunge down a ravine. Let the man have a little revenge.

"Want me to put some peroxide on them scratches for you?" Felipe asked with a sly wink. Daryl blushed and glared at Felipe, narrowing his eyes. "_Mamacita_ got a little wildcat in her, eh?" he gave Daryl a nudge on the shoulder, and the tracker grunted. "How'd you get lucky enough to get hooked up with her?"

"Damned if I know." Daryl said softly.

* * *

_**This one was a little longer, but needed to do some more exposition about G's crew as well as get Daryl the medical attention he desperately needed. **_

_**Note:**__** primo is cousin, hermano is brother. Felipe and Angel are siblings and Miguel is their cousin. G isn't related to any of them.**_

_**The shower scene was just supposed to be a sweet little comfort hold me thing, but as I was writing it, Caryl just sort of insisted that it go in a different (hotter MA) direction. Hope no one minds.**_

_**My mom worked for a vet and I dated one, so I do know that the larger practices often have their own x-ray machines, sonograms, operating rooms, pet grooming facilities and retail stores on site. Carol and Daryl have hit the jackpot here for their needs, but it also means that **__**others**__** want what the Vatos have as well...**_

_**Thank you to all the people following and who have favorited. I do so appreciate your reviews—some of you do it for every chapter I post and that is wonderful!**_


	20. Chapter 20: Tamer of the Slain

_**As they gather the supplies to help Glenn, Carol and Daryl learn some disturbing news about the lay of the land in Senoia.**_

* * *

_**20. Tamer of the Slain**_

"He was a very sick man." Felipe said quietly as he and Carol sorted through the boxes of vent tubing and surgical clamps. Carol looked at him, dragging her gaze away from Angel and G, who were sitting in the chairs the girl had earlier pulled over for her and Carol. Angel was bent forward, her head almost touching her knees and a bright sheen of sweat covered her arms and shoulders. G was gently rubbing her back and speaking to her in a low calm voice, trying to help her through her panic attack.

"Carved his initial on her belly—branded her—did that to all of the ones he kept." Felipe said angrily, slamming down the heavy box he'd lowered from a higher shelf onto the table where they were working.

Carol swallowed hard, the taste of bile burning acid strong in the back of her throat. She knew men like that. She'd been married to a version whose worst impulses had been tempered by modern society. She wondered what he'd have been like if he'd have survived longer in this lawless world.

"How did it happen—I mean how did she get captured?"

"Her landlady worked here, at the Clinic as a vet tech. She gathered all of the people in the boarding house together and brought them here for shelter. Her boss had begun the fortifications after the outbreak began and needed the man power to help him. After she'd been here about a week a group of them were on a supply run when they got grabbed up by the worst of _los lobos_—non-local warlord—he killed the Vet when he wouldn't tell him where they were holed up and added Angel and the other two women to his harem."

"So how did you get her back?" Carol asked softly. Felipe looked sick.

"We bought her." he murmured. Carol dropped the packet of syringes she held and looked at him incredulously.

"You_ what_?" she said a little too loudly and both Angel and G's heads came up at the sound. Felipe took her arm and led her out of the room and down the corridor. He leaned against the wall on one side and her on the other.

"The south will _rise_ again." he said bitterly.

"_Slave_ auctions?" Carol asked, knowing it shouldn't surprise her, but horrified none the less. Felipe nodded.

"When we got into town we went to her house and found it had been trashed, taken over by squatters. They told us about the lay of the land, said they were getting out; that the warlords kept the population of walkers down, but they were making it impossible for decent people to live. Couple of days later signs went up about the sale...sex slaves..."

"Oh my god." Carol said, her eyes filling, furious.

"We traded our truck for her. 'Sides our guns it was all we had that they'd take. Made us sick not to be able to save anyone else."

"Her friends?"

"She was the only one still alive from the Vet's group, but she'd made friends while she was in there...it haunts her...little things trigger her..." Felipe said, weary sadness etched into his face.

"Like the surgical instruments." Carol murmured, Angel had been helping her look through the boxes of plastic sealed equipment, but when she opened up the scalpels she had turned white as a sheet and her knees had buckled. G had been beside her and caught her up, carrying her to the chairs.

"He loves her, doesn't he?" Carol asked, and Felipe gave her that same sad smile. "Guillermo?"

"It took her a year until she could let him touch her just as simply as he is now. I got her body healthy again, but he's healing her _alma..._her soul." Carol nodded; she knew about the kind of man who could heal a broken spirit. She'd been lucky enough to find one.

"I ever see that one eyed son of a bitch again; killing's too good for him. He_ suffers_."

"_What_ did you just say?" Carol asked slowly—dread making her head feel light, her fingers and toes going numb.

"Warlord took her—wears a fucking pirate patch over one eye—calls himself _Valtamr_."

"Valtamr?" Carol asked.

"Angel says he told them it means '_tamer of the slain'_. Keeps walkers in pits, stages gladiator battles with' em for entertainment...told ya, he's a sick bastard."

But not, Carol thought, an unfamiliar one.

* * *

"They took them." Miguel said as he watched Daryl throw the brightly colored twisted rope toy for Gus, who had taken to fetching like nobody's business. They were out in a central triangular courtyard area between the three buildings in the veterinary compound. It was filled with raised bed garden plots watered by hoses snaked from barrels collecting the runoff from each structure's roof. A long graveled path ran the length of the courtyard from the apex of the triangle to the center of the base, bisecting it, and two shorter ones ran from the other two points of the triangle to the center of the longer one. Seen from the air or the roof of the buildings, it formed a peace sign. The late sustainability vet's little built in anti-war protest.

Daryl sat sideways in a wooden park bench at the apex, his broken leg propped up on the seat and the other foot resting on the ground. He was jonesing bad for a cigarette, the pain pills he'd been given before the x-ray and the endorphins from his best shower _ever _starting to wear thin.

Miguel perched on the arm of the bench by Daryl's foot, annoying Daryl with his fidgeting and covetous stare at the pup. The boy knew it too and he tried to stop his jumpy leg by firmly putting his hand on his thigh and digging his fingernails in to the point of pain, but it didn't help, so he'd started to talk, trying to explain why the sight of the small dog had such an effect on him.

"You remember?_ Los tres perritos del Diablo?"_

_ "Bought 'em off Satan at a yard sale."_ Daryl's cheek quirked, quoting G's bluff to Rick when he'd asked what they were going to do to Glenn...feed him to his dogs...which had turned out to be three ferocious _Chihuahuas._ Miguel smiled sadly.

"When we got back that day...found everyone... like that...took care of those that had turned, I looked for the little ones, but they weren't there, none of their stuff neither. Bed, food, toys—all gone." The boy teared up. "I mean, what kind of psychos would kill my _abuelita _and then steal her puppies?"

Daryl thought of the kindly old lady who had kept them all from killing each other with her well timed search for Felipe's help. Her softly lisping voice scolding Rick for wanting to arrest Felipe, her shuffling slippered feet as she led them to Glenn.

"Taking care of them—that was my job." Miguel finished, the tears running over now, making sloppy trails down his dirty face, his breath hitching, hanging his head.

Gus returned with the toy, dropped it at Daryl's foot, sat and looked curiously up at the weeping boy, cocking his head to the side.

Daryl picked up the knotted rope and Gus danced back in anticipation. He liked this game, the man threw far and he could run fast after the bland smelling prey, kill it and bring it back for more hunts.

"You toss it fer him—my arms gettin' tired." Daryl said, holding the toy out to Miguel, the bowman's muscled bicep and forearm giving lie to the request. The skinny kid looked up, surprised, and then visibly worked to get a hold of himself. He wiped his eyes with his hands and his runny nose on the back of his right forearm and took the rope, holding it above Gus' head, dangling it teasingly to make him jump up and dance.

"Why'd ya name him _Gus_?" Miguel asked, and the pup barked, making Daryl snort—he couldn't know his name already, could he?

"What'd ya think I'd name him?" and then they both thought of what Miguel had said to Daryl when he'd asked the young vato if he knew anything about his missing brother. _"I wouldn't name my __dog__ Merle."_

"Yeah, guess anything's better than Merle." Miguel said sagely, nodding his head as Daryl grunted. He tossed the toy, not as far as Daryl, but a good toss. "You ever find your_ hermano_?"

"Yeah." Daryl said, putting a world of meaning into that one word.

"Dead?"

"He is now. Murdered."

"Turned?"

"Yeah."

"Fuckers." Miguel swore, knowing the cruelty of those that killed but didn't finish with mercy. Seeing his grandmother turned was what woke him every night, screaming. "You find 'em?" he asked.

"Not yet."

"You do—you need help takin' them out—I'm in." Miguel promised. Daryl looked over at the now deadly serious kid.

"Might take you up on that." Daryl said quietly, knowing they could use as many allies as they could get should the Governor ever return.

Miguel nodded and then felt Gus bump his leg. He'd been sitting at the boy's feet waiting for someone to notice him while the men talked. He dropped the toy right on Miguel's foot, looking him in the eye expectantly.

"Smart little_ puto_, aren't you, _Gusto_?" Gus barked and danced back, turning in quick dizzying circles in his excitement. Daryl chuckled and then actually laughed at the pup's antics and both Miguel and Gus looked over at him, stopping, their attention arrested by the sound of this hard man laughing.

"Daryl?" they both turned upon hearing Carol's distressed voice behind them. She came forward and Miguel stood. She had her arms wrapped around herself, her movements jerky.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked, struggling to pull his cast leg off the bench so he could turn to face her. She came to him and sank down onto the bench beside him.

"I think..." she looked at him, her crystal blue eyes troubled, her lower lip trembling, "I think I know why this town is so..." she stopped, looking up at Miguel who shrugged.

"Fucked up?" Daryl finished for her, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. He looked at her worried face. She nodded and then took a deep breath.

"Felipe told me Angel was held by a warlord—runs most of the town." she told him.

"That pirata _pendejo_!" Miguel exclaimed, agitated now. "He seriously needs to die for what he did to her!" Gus started yapping, worried by the suddenly heightened states of the people around him.

"I think it's Blake, Daryl. I think it's the Governor."

* * *

_**Valtam is one of the names used by the one-eyed chief god in Norse mythology, Odin, god of war, death, poetry and wisdom; it is a shortened form of 'Valtamr', which means 'Fallen Tamer', or 'Tamer of the Slain.'**_

_**You knew he was out there somewhere!**_

**I was overwhelmed by all of the love for the last chapter—thank you thank you thank you reviewers & new & old followers! I've studied death & mourning traditions and mythology in different cultures in my coursework and like to include little things from them in my TWD writing. So yes, as **_**alibabwa's**_** observation about Daryl not cutting his hair since Merle died being the same as in the Jewish tradition was spot on.**


	21. Chapter 21: Holding Angels

_**21. Holding Angels**_

"_**Sometimes we're holding angels,  
**__**and we never even know  
don't know if we'll make it  
but we know we just can't let it show..."  
**__**(Ross Copperman, "Holding on and Letting Go")**_

* * *

"When did you meet?" asked the dark haired woman dressed in a simple flowing peach colored dress with breathtaking white feathered wings rising from behind her shoulders. Glenn was sitting in the empty common room of the prison, the one used as the dining hall, looking up at a large flat screen TV hung on the guard tower wall watching Maggie sitting by his bedside, holding his hand, talking to him as if they were carrying on a full blown conversation instead of him lying there at death's door. Speaking of which...

"So who are _you_ now? Angel of death?" Glenn said wearily.

"No, that's Azrael—dark robe, scythe—he goes in for the theatrics." she smiled at him pleasantly. "My name is Paschar; I'm the angel of vision, guardian of the veil between your world and the afterworld."

"So this is _your _realm?" he asked and she nodded. "Are you here to kick me out? Take me to the next place?"

"I'm no psychopomp." she laughed, "that'd be Michael-or if you see a lot of sparrows, or the FTD guy, or a jackal headed Egyptian dude, _duck._" she advised, warning him about four of the traditional conveyors of the soul to the afterlife.

"So why am I graced with your presence?"

"Oh, call it a review—Bob sent me. He said you need to 're-examine your reasons for clinging to life.' And there sits one of the main ones." she pointed at the screen, "So when did you first meet?"

"We met in the woods...but we first _talked_ the night we got to the farm..." Glenn began.

_He had been praying. Or at least trying to. _

_It wasn't something he'd ever felt comfortable with before. It smacked of self indulgence, a belief that somehow his petty problems were enough to warrant the interest of a supreme being, if such a thing even existed. He'd refused to participate in his parents' religion and hadn't found any other that he could believe in._

_But tonight, a night when two young children were in jeopardy, when the group was split, when they'd almost lost both T-Dog and Andrea to walkers, after losing Jacqui at the CDC only the day before, and Amy, Jim and so many others the in the days before that, Glenn decided he needed to bother God._

_She had come out onto the porch. The pretty girl who had come riding up on her copper colored horse, saved Andrea with a swing of a baseball bat and carried Lori away like some later day Amazon. She was magnificent._

"_You think...you think god exists?" Glenn asked the farmer's daughter perched on the white porch railing across from his chair._

"_I always took it on faith. Lately I've wondered... Everythin' that's happened; there musta been a lot a praying going on and...seems quite a few went unanswered."_

"_Thanks. It's really helping."_

"_Sorry—g'head—really."_

"_You gonna watch?"_

"_Get you a refill instead." she came over and picked up his glass of ice tea from where he'd set it beside his chair, headed for the porch door, but then she paused, turning back to him._

"_I know it's not my business, and feel free to believe in God, but the thing is—you gotta make it ok somehow. No matter what happens." she looked at him sadly and then he knew she was speaking from experience._

_She turned and went back into the house, his eyes on her the whole time_.

"So she's a good person?" Paschar asked Glenn, sounding curious. Glenn nodded.

"She cares for people other than you?" the angel now sounded skeptical.

"Of course." Glenn defended. It was true he and Maggie tended to be wrapped up in each other, but he knew she looked after Beth and Judith, took care of Hershel.

Paschar waved her hand over the screen and another scene appeared.

_"I'm so sorry about Carol." Maggie said. She was searching the shelves in a small corner market, their third stop on the so far unsuccessful run to try and find formula for the newborn waiting back at the prison. Daryl stood behind her, on guard with his crossbow raised, silent._

_ "Daryl?" Maggie stood up straight and turned to face the quiet man. He frowned at her, his bad habit of chewing on the inside of his lip emphasizing the down turn of his mouth. He looked angry, sad, and then pissed as hell at her. She touched his arm and he flinched away._

_ "That mean yer __not__ about T and Lori?" he bit out sarcastically, backing up to put some distance between them; so she couldn't touch him so easily again. Daryl felt like an exposed nerve, like everything around him was too loud, too bright, too alive... how dare those fucking birds be singing when __she__ was dead? _

_ "Of course not—you know that's not what I meant!" Maggie cried, appalled. To her Daryl looked like granite, immovable, detached, totally focused on the task at hand. How could he be so cold?_

_ "This is another dead end—need to move on." he said in a flat tone, meaning the store, but also warning her off this line of conversation. He started backing away, towards the entrance._

_ "I know how much she meant to you." Maggie said quietly, stubbornly. Daryl turned away from her, scouting the street past the door way, "Even if you won't admit it to yourself, even if you ignore me, you __cared__ about her," her voice rising angrily at the end. Daryl turned slowly towards her, his look dangerous._

_ "And what the fuck good is it to me __now__?" he roared at her, all traces of his veneer of calm gone, his color up, his muscles clenched, stalking close, pure raw grief, getting in Maggie's face. She stumbled back, shocked. She'd rarely seen Daryl like this since they'd left the farm. He'd become Rick's right hand man, someone they all respected and trusted. He was still intimidating as hell, but calmer, more controlled, his arguments reasoned rather than rash. They all knew it was at least in part because of his growing closer to the small widow; that Carol tempered him, like adding cool cream to hot coffee._

_ "Oh Daryl..." she choked out and then started to weep, huge wracking sobs. Crying for all they'd lost today, crying for Rick, never able to make things right with Lori, for Carl having to end his own mother...and for the man in front of her, too afraid to tell Carol how he'd felt and now forever denied the chance._

_Daryl slumped back against the doorway, ashamed he'd lost control, embarrassed that he'd let something so personal slip past his usually rock solid barriers...but Carol couldn't just be __gone__ like that, could she? They'd all just been laughing and talking last night in the cells and again this morning when he'd gotten on Glenn and Maggie's case about spending so much time in the tower. Carol had playfully cuffed his arm as they'd walked away, congratulating him on his joke, so god damn easy with each other. All that just __gone__?_

_He put his left hand under his poncho, inside his vest where he'd stashed her scarf, his last physical connection to her, seeing her in his mind's eye the way she'd looked wearing it this morning as she'd smiled at him, her beautiful blue eyes merry with good humor. Felt the silky fabric between his fingers, knew if he lifted them to his face now they would smell like her rose scented soap. __Gone._

_ "Saw a flyer for a day care on the board over there." Daryl said, taking a hold of his bow with both hands and standing up straight, back in control. "Check that out next."_

_Maggie wiped at her eyes and sniffed, nodding, following him out the store doorway. Daryl climbed on the bike, holding it still for her, not yet starting it. She got on behind him, putting her arms around him in what he knew was meant as a comforting embrace...not just holding on for safety's sake; the way he'd felt when the only other woman he'd ever let ride with him was back there... He reached his left hand down and briefly touched hers and felt her head lean against his back._

_ "Maggie..." Daryl said quietly._

_ "Yeah?" she said uncertainly, wondering if was going to chide her for holding on so tightly._

_ "Thank you." he said, and started the bike, its loud engine cutting off any response she might've wanted to make._

Glenn blinked away the tears he felt forming in his eyes, canted his head at Paschar.

"_Love_ his vest." the angel mused, staring at the screen.

"She never told me that." Glenn said softly. _Of course_ Daryl had mourned when he'd thought Carol was dead, but had any of the rest of them thought to offer him any words of comfort? His pain had gotten lost in the overwhelming anguish of Rick's loss and subsequent breakdown. They'd all just expected Daryl to step up, take up the slack and carry on, not realizing in his own way that he'd been as devastated as Rick.

_The screen came up on a very early misty morning at the prison. A lone figure approached the small graveyard out in the yard, his crossbow slung over his back. Daryl came to stand before the grave on the left, marked with a crooked wooden cross and a semicircle of light colored stones making a 'C'. Daryl reached beneath his angel winged vest and pulled out a slightly crumpled white flower, a wild rose, and he bent and placed it within the curve of the C's embrace, pushing the soft soil up around it to hold it in place. Straightening, he set his hand on the shoulder of the cross, sighing softly, saying his own private goodbye._

Glenn looked over at Paschar, tears running down his face.

"I remember that."

_Unseen by Daryl, the young couple on early watch looked down from the walkway of the tower behind him, Maggie standing in front of Glenn who embraced her tightly, looking over her shoulder._

"She's gonna be so happy when she finds out they're together now." Glenn said, grinning through his tears, proud of how she had shown their friend such care. Then he frowned, "They _are_ right? I didn't just imagine that?" It was getting harder to hold onto what was real...

"Oh, they're very much together." Paschar nodded solemnly. The screen buzzed on again showing Carol gently washing Daryl's hair and face, his tight embrace of her and then the passionate kiss, him stripping off her clothes; lifting her...

"Whoa!" Glenn exclaimed, blushing, covering his own eyes with his hands and turning around, away from the screen. "All right! All right! I believe you! _Shit!_"

"You didn't think you and Maggie were the only ones allowed to be sexy around here, did you?" the smirking angel chortled, tilting her head with interest as she watched the couple on the screen. Glenn could still hear them: Carol's indulgent laugh, Daryl's desperate groan, Carol's passion drugged plea_, "Please, Daryl–oh god please_..."

"_Paschar!_ I thought you said angel of vision not _voyeur_! This isn't right." Glenn objected, glaring at her. She looked back at him curiously.

"How do I know if I don't observe?" she asked him.

"They deserve their privacy." Glenn insisted, resolutely keeping his eyes off the screen.

"Oh very well," Paschar sighed and waved her hand and the screen went dark.

"But they're ok, right? They're safe?" Glenn asked, sure he had seen a cast on Daryl's leg, a bad bruise on Carol's forehead.

"For the moment. They ran into some old friends who are helping them and will give them the supplies they need to save you, but they will have a difficult choice to make before..." She stopped speaking, tilting her head as if listening to someone talking only to her.

"What if I told you that _you_ had to make a choice, Glenn?" she asked, looking at him speculatively, her wings fluttering up in agitation, as if she didn't like what she'd been asked to do just now.

"What _kind _of choice?" Wasn't all life just a series of choices? Glenn wondered. Isn't that what the sublime Bob had told him?

"A choice; save your life or Maggie's?"

"Hers." he said without hesitation.

_The screen showed the prison yard; Glenn was struggling to close a heavy iron gated door. _

_ "Hey. You see Merle around?" Daryl asked Glenn, who rolled his eyes. Daryl put down his bow and moved to help him, lifting along with Glenn so the chain could be fastened._

_ "Say he was sorry yet? Coz he is." Daryl said, wishing you could apologize for other people. "He's gonna make it right. I'm gonna make 'em. S'gotta be a way. Just need to be a little forgiveness is all..."_

_ "He tied me a chair, beat me and threw a walker in the room." Glen said. "I could maybe call it even, but he...he took Maggie to a man who terrorized her, humiliated her. I care more about her than I care about me."_

"Her life or your unborn child's?" the angel asked next.

_Glenn heard Lori's soft voice intone, "Josephine Eun."_

"What?" Glenn's heart clenched tightly.

"When Azrael comes_, someone_ will be getting in that boat with Jim, Glenn." the dark haired angel told him sadly. "Your choice."

* * *

_**Paschar: **_Angel of vision; this angel guards the veil between our world and the heavens, between consciousness and unconsciousness, between awareness and illusion**.**

_**I don't know about you but I was disappointed when I got my S3 BluRay and there was no deleted scene of Maggie and Daryl discussing Carol's "death" as had been rumored. So this was my version. I liked it because they are two characters that you don't often see interacting on the show. The baby formula run was one of the only times they had a private scene together. My version takes place right before the canon one shown in the episode, and also explains how they knew about the daycare.**_

_**Notice the repeated use of the word "gone" in Daryl's inner monologue about Carol; that parallel's Carol's reaction to Rick telling her that Daryl has left with Merle in S3's **__**The Suicide King.**_

_**Next: more complications and choices...**_


	22. Chapter 22: Valkyries

_**As Carol and Daryl make their farewells to the Vatos, new information comes to light about Angel's captivity and the man who held her.**_

_**Warning: sexual violence implied.**_

* * *

_**22. Valkyries**_

_**Remember friend, as you pass by.  
As you are now, so once was I.  
As I am now, you soon shall be.  
So, prepare for death, and follow me.**_

* * *

"So you're saying that this Voldemort—"

"Valtamr." Carol corrected.

_"Whatever_—you're sayin' that he's the same asshole that killed Merle? Andrea?" Daryl bit out, his voice tight with anger.

"I think so. From what Felipe said it fits. Eye patch, using walkers in an arena, setting up a power base...only he thinks he's a _god_ now, not just a governor." Carol told him from her seat beside him on the wooden bench. Miguel had taken Gus inside so Felipe could give him his puppy shots and wormer in preparation for their departure.

"Bat shit crazy's what he is." Daryl grumbled. "We gotta take him out." He struggled to his feet and reached for his crutches.

"Daryl." Carol said impatiently, putting her hand on his forearm to stop him. He looked down at her. "You _can't."_ she said, trying to make him see reason. He was in no condition to lead an assault on anyone, let alone a well armed paramilitary militia led by a psychopath.

He growled out an angry breath and threw the right crutch as far as he could; it clattered on the gravel path in front of them, and then he slumped back down onto the wooden bench, letting the left crutch fall onto the ground, his entire body tense with frustration. Carol slid closer to him and put her hand on the thigh of his broken leg. She reached up with her other hand and took a hold of his chin, turning his face towards her.

"We get the supplies to save Glenn, let everyone know what's going on here in Senoia and come back with a plan to take that asshole _out_." she said firmly, waiting for his assent. He leveled a cobalt blue glare at her determined face, breathing hard, still seeing red, the idea that Blake was so close but he still couldn't get to him was infuriating.

"Daryl, _please_. You know I'm right." then her voice got quieter, "Merle tried going after him alone..." she reminded him, her hand moving to cup his cheek.

_"Can't do things without people anymore..."_ Daryl murmured, ducking his head.

"What?" Carol asked, puzzled, but nodding in agreement with the sentiment.

"Som-thin I said to Merle...that day...the day he left with Michonne." he leaned into her hand, sighed. She leaned closer, drawing his head to hers until their foreheads touched.

"We'll get him Daryl, we will—for what he's done—for all of the innocent people he's hurt and killed—"

"Even the not so innocent ones..." Daryl said, his mouth quirking at the side, thinking of his unrepentant scoundrel of a brother. Carol smiled as well, thinking of Merle, but also of Axel, Oscar and the Woodbury people who had attacked the prison, dead on the road by that madman's hand. Phillip Blake had a lot to answer for.

Carol pressed a quick kiss to Daryl's brow and released his head. She looked up at him.

"Let's talk to the Vatos—see what else they can tell us about their encounter with him. Maybe get a better idea of what we're up against, ok?" she asked.

"I do love a woman who knows how to make a plan..." Daryl said, tilting his head down to look at her consideringly. She smiled and leaned down to pick up his crutch and hand it to him and then stood and moved out onto the path to retrieve the other. He watched her bend to pick it up and he wolf whistled at her. "...'specially when she's also got a _great_ ass." She stood back up, holding the crutch in her right hand and put her left hand on her hip, looking back over her shoulder at him.

"Right back at'cha, _stud_." she said cheekily, and he blushed and snorted at her, making her dissolve into delighted laughter. How did she do that? He wondered. Diffuse his fury and have him flirting in the space of a few minutes? She was a miracle.

Carol brought the second crutch back to him and helped him stand so they could slowly make their way back inside.

* * *

"I need your help, Angel..._we_ need your help." Carol said, pulling up another chair so she could sit beside the young woman who was holding hands with G. Angel looked warily at the older woman.

"I don't know what I can do."

"I'm sorry, honey, but I need to know more about the man who took you." Carol said gently.

The girl got that same look of panic on her face as he had when she'd opened the box of scalpels and she shrunk back against Guillermo. Daryl and Felipe exchanged an uneasy look from their position against the back wall. They'd already sent Miguel and the puppy back outside with the excuse that they wanted Gus tired out as much as possible before being cooped up for hours on the ride back to the prison. The boy didn't need to hear this.

"We think he's the same man who killed Daryl's brother and more of our group—we want to kill him." Carol said, deciding being honest was the quickest way to convince Angel of the seriousness of what she was asking. Angel's head came up and she smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile.

"Can I _watch_?" she said, her voice malignant. Carol looked over at Daryl and he gave her a 'holy shit' look and an uncomfortable grimace. Taking a deep breath Carol continued.

"Can you tell us anything about him—what he looked like, where he had you?"

"He made us fight." she said, getting a faraway look in her eyes. "Called us his _Valkyries_."

"Fight? Walkers?" Carol asked, knowing that when he'd pitted Daryl and Merle against one another there had also been walkers involved. In Norse mythology the Valkyrie swept in after battle to take the souls of the fallen to Valhalla, the hall of the dead.

"And each other." she said, tears filling her eyes. "To the death." Silence filled the room at her words. Finally G raised Angel's hand and brushed his lips against it.

_"Mi pobrecita Angelita..."_ G said, "My poor little Angel." This was the first time she had opened up to them about what had happened to her during her month of captivity. They kept to themselves in the vet compound, almost totally self sufficient, refusing to participate in the activities conducted within the town, and with their patrols, trying their best to protect any innocents that might get caught in the spider web that the warlords had created here.

"I had to kill people..._my friends_...or they'd have killed me." Angel said quietly, deeply ashamed of what she'd done to survive.

"I understand." Carol said. Survivor's guilt—she'd felt it so many times, wondering why had she made it when so many others hadn't—T-Dog's horrible sacrifice for her... But for Angel it was even worse. She'd chosen to do what was necessary to stay alive at the expense of others.

"He laughed." her voice sounded dead now, monotone, as if she was committed to get at all out now, the whole story, but couldn't attach any emotion to it or she'd get stuck. "He _enjoyed_ pitting us against one another, deliberately chose pairs from people who knew each other before, friends ... family ... lovers ..." she paused, taking a deep breath. "The winner had the honor of either facing down any number of walkers or fucking the man of his choosing." she took another ragged breath, "The audience got to vote."

Silent tears ran down Carol's face as she looked at the young woman. The brutality, the depraved_ evil_ that man was capable of to others made her physically ill.

"Why did he sell you?" Daryl suddenly asked, his voice dry, raspy with emotion. Carol had wondered the same—if she was a good enough fighter to survive why would he have let her go?

"I think...I think because I stopped _reacting._ It didn't matter what they did to me, I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of showing I cared, no matter how much it hurt or humiliated me... then it stopped being fun for him." She looked over at Felipe, "And then _mi hermano_ was there—but I couldn't let them know who he was—or they'd never have let him buy me."

"So G did it—pimped himself out like a...well, like a _pimp_ and rolled in there to make the deal." Felipe told them.

"My heroes." Angel said, a hint of color coming back into her cheeks as she smiled at her brother and G.

"I'm sorry to ask you more, but can any of you tell us what he looks like?" Carol asked.

"One blue eye...bastard always wears that patch." G said, "Tall. Over six feet—smarmy charm, fit, good old boy accent."

"He doesn't always wear the patch." Angel said and they all looked at her. "His eye—what's left of his eye looks cut—sliced...?" She told them. "And he has a collection of swords...special Japanese swords. Practices with them all the time like he's training for the Olympics or something—made us use them in fights..."

_"Katanas_?" Daryl asked, meeting Carol's eyes. Angel nodded.

"It has to be him, Daryl." Carol said, both of them realizing the man was still obsessed with Michonne, the one woman who'd gotten away.

"Thank you." Carol said with great sincerity, taking Angel's hand and squeezing it. The girl nodded, looking worried.

"You're really going to try to kill him?" Angel asked.

"You and what army?" G scoffed. Again Daryl and Carol exchanged a look—they knew a whole prison full of people who would leap at the chance to take the Governor, or whatever he was calling himself these days, out of commission.

"We need to go." Daryl said, "Get back to our group." He looked over at Carol, smiled grimly. "Make a plan."

"Take Miguel with you." G said. "If you run into trouble on the road, you're gonna need back up." He looked at Daryl. "You're fucking Legolas, but ya got mobility issues, _hombre_." he looked at Carol. "And _tu esposa_ needs to drive." he looked at Felipe and Angel, "We'll hold down the fort here until you get back with the troops." Daryl sighed but nodded.

* * *

They stood in the big garage, doing last minute packing of the green car as G and Felipe worked quickly to finish replacing the passenger side window.

"One of the benefits of having all the vehicles piled up around us—replacement parts galore." Felipe said, snapping the interior side panel back in place.

"Helps havin' someone who knows their way around a tool box." Daryl returned, grateful they hadn't had to just try to board up the broken out window. They needed the visibility on all sides.

Miguel carried a squirming Gus, who now wore a brand new collar and leash, which he hated, but which Carol had deemed necessary.

"Maybe we should get a pet crate..." Carol wondered aloud.

"Naw, take up too much space. He rides with me." Daryl said definitively.

"In the_ back_ seat." Miguel piped up. "I call shotgun."

"No fuckin' way!" Daryl growled.

"_Puto_—you need to keep your leg elevated so you don't get a blood clot." Felipe told him. "Get in the _back_." Daryl let them help him in, grumbling the whole time. Carol leaned in and adjusted the seat belt so he could turn sideways enough to prop his left leg up the seat.

"_Hey."_ Daryl said quietly, putting his hand on her shoulder and she stopped what she was doing to look at him. She smiled at his serious but adoring expression.

"Hey." she said back and leaned in to kiss him.

"Enough 'a that _telenovia_ shit, you two!" Miguel snarked, tossing Gus onto Daryl's lap and slamming the other back seat door. _"Vamanos!" _

Rolling her eyes at the boy, Carol stepped back and G and Felipe came to clasp hands with Daryl in goodbye and then hugged Miguel. Angel was standing by the driver's side door, waiting for Carol.

"Thanks for the loan of the clothes." Carol told her. Theirs had been so polluted with the smell that they'd both borrowed new outfits from the scavenged suitcases in one of the storerooms. Angel nodded and briefly looked back at Daryl before her eyes returned to Carol's and she pulled her a few feet away from the car.

"You said...you said you'd been through it too?" she whispered.

"Not what—not everything_ you_ went through, but yes...I was beaten and raped." Carol said quietly.

"But you and your husband—I heard you...in the shower...I'm sorry—I didn't mean to, but..."

"I don't suppose we were very quiet." Carol smiled, pinkening. Angel frowned at her. Carol took the girls' hands in hers. "When it's with the _right_ man, a _good_ man, Angel? It's not the same. Give it time." She looked over at Guillermo and it was Angel's turn to blush.

"May I give you a hug?" Carol asked, not wanting to ask too much of the young woman. Angel nodded solemnly and Carol embraced her carefully. Felipe touched G's arm and he and Daryl looked over at the women.

"Stay safe." Carol replied.

"Take care of each other." Angel said and then handed Carol a small cloth bag and released her and backed away. "Open it after you're down the road a ways."

"Thanks." Carol smiled, putting the bag in her pocket. She went back to the car and exchanged hugs with G and Felipe, also giving him a kiss on the cheek which made the big man redden.

"See you soon." Carol said, and got in the car, shutting the door.

"Miguel will show you the safest way out of town," G said, "but they change up patrols all the time, so stay on your guard. They'll be hot after finding the 5 we took out this morning." Carol took her pistol with the silencer out of her leg holster and set it in her lap and Miguel pulled a sawed off shot gun from the bag at his feet and handed it back to Daryl, and then held his own pistol at the ready. G thumped the hood of the car twice and the garage door opened for them.

* * *

"You got any tunes, _Mamacita?"_ Miguel asked Carol, nervously tapping his hand on the door panel to some unknown beat.

"Best wait 'til we're clear of the town,_ ese_." Daryl said from the back seat. They'd been driving about 10 minutes, taking a roundabout pathway through the northern part of the suburbs.

"Oh yeah, right." the boy said. "Oh _shit!_" he exclaimed as they rounded a curve. The road in front of them was blocked, a box trap created by two overturned semis.

"Back!" Daryl yelled, and Carol threw it in reverse, but a brown UPS truck pulled across both lanes behind them, blocking their escape. Carol hit the brakes, looking around desperately for a way out. A group of about ten men surrounded the car, all holding weapons, from automatic rifles and Uzis to baseball bats and swords...katanas. Shooting their way out of this didn't look like an option.

A tall African American man with shaved head and Maori styled tattoo over half of his face and head walked around the car, peering in and then came to stand by the driver's window, tapping lightly on it with his knuckles. Carol cracked the window less than an inch so she could hear him.

"You got some valuable shit in the back of that car—medical equipment—you a doctor?" He seemed to be the leader, or at least the spokesman.

"No—just the delivery men. One of our group is sick—needs an emergency operation—we're on our way back there." Carol said.

"Errand a mercy is it then?" the big man asked.

"That's right." Carol replied evenly, willing her voice to remain steady.

"Well... wouldn't feel right takin' our toll from that stuff then, would we?" he chuckled.

"We'd appreciate that...take it as a kindness." Carol said, nodding.

"Busted leg?" the man said, pointing at Daryl's cast.

"Been a rough trip." Carol told him.

"In kind of a hurry." Daryl said, "Emergency situation."

"We'll just be takin' yer woman then." he said pleasantly. Daryl's hand closed over the shotgun under his poncho and Carol laughed nervously.

"That's not very funny." Miguel said crossly, staring daggers at the man standing at the driver's side window. Gus growled and started barking furiously.

"Get outa the car." The tattooed man said to Carol, leveling an Uzi at her head. Daryl whipped the shotgun up, but a loud tapping sound behind him made him turn. A gun man was using the barrel of the AK-47 pointed at his head to tap on the window and shaking his head no. Another man was pointing a pistol at Miguel.

"Drop the weapons, put your hands up; all of you, and get outa the car." the spokesman said. "And shut that dog up or I'll shut it up."

They roughly hauled Daryl out of the back and made him lean against the side of the car next to Miguel, who held Gus tightly, trying to calm him, while they searched the car for more weapons and looked Carol over; making her stand still while they circled her.

"No spring chicken, but she's still firm and _fine_, eh, gimp? She your woman?" he asked Daryl with a leering wink.

"You keep your hands off her, asshole." Daryl said, quiet and deadly.

"Oh ho ho—I'd say so—got yourself a_ redneck_ lover, eh fancy?" he asked Carol with a wink. "Likes to screw ya against a tree in the Georgia moonlight, does he?" and he laughed at his own joke.

Daryl launched himself at the man, getting in one punch to his jaw before he was stopped as two of the others grabbed his arms and held him back.

"I'm in such a good mood today I'll give ya that one." The minion said, rubbing his jaw. "I was disrespecting your woman and I do apologize."

"This is_ not_ happening." Daryl said, but Carol nodded at him in denial. They both knew that without the equipment in the car, Glenn was dead.

"Listen to her, son. She comes with us; you go on your way, that simple. Now say your goodbyes."

"I'll be fine, sweetheart." Carol told him, her calm level blue stare boring into his soul. "You have to get back—for our friend." she leaned in close, whispered, _"You'll come for me, I know you will." _she held his face in her hands, willing him to calm.

_"I_ _can't._" his voice was anguished, ripped from him, "I can't let you do this—leave you—to _him... you know what he'll do to you..."_ Daryl had never felt so useless in his entire life—he couldn't stop this, he'd failed to protect her, the one person he'd let in, the one person he'd swore to himself nothing would ever happen to... he struggled violently against the two men who held him, almost fought free and earned a hard punch to his kidneys that doubled him over, tore him from her grasp. He fell to the pavement at her feet and she tried to kneel to help him, but the man behind her grabbed her arm and forced her to remain standing while he cuffed her hands behind her.

"You had yer tender goodbyes with your man, time to go." The bald man said, jerking her back against him. "Don't expect to see you and yer idiot spic back in this town again, gimp—you hear me?" he said to Daryl, his voice dismissive.

Miguel moved to help Daryl stand, but as soon as he was up he shrugged the boy off and looked like he was going to try to get to Carol again. The Mr. Clean reject cocked his gun and put it to Carol's breast, over her heart.

"Stop or I make a new walker for the pits." he said quietly. Carol trembled, trying not to breathe, not to do anything that would upset the delicate balance upon which her life hung. She met Daryl's eyes, saw the devastation there and willed him to trust that she would survive until he found her again, like he always did.

"Com'on man." Miguel begged him, pulling on his arm, but Daryl was frozen in place, watching as they forced Carol away, into one of their cars and left.

Daryl fell to the ground and just howled her name.

* * *

_**Ok, so this was a hard one to write. I cried. **_

_**Sorry it's so upsetting, but that's where the story wanted to go. It looks like we're in for a bit of angst for awhile, folks. Just remember our Carol is a warrior woman! **_

_**Thanks again for all the follows, favorites and reviews! I'll be interested to hear what you all thought of this one.**_


	23. Chapter 23: A rose by any other name

_**23. "A rose by any other name..."**_

* * *

The arrival of the green car back at the prison gate later that night was met with jubilance. A crowd descended on them, eliciting a frenzy of barking from Gus and a look of fear from Miguel. It had been awhile since he'd been around this many people.

Rick ripped open the rear door when he saw that Daryl was propped up in the back seat, and behind him were the worried faces of Hershel, Beth and Carl. Miguel hopped out and scooped up the noisy pup from Daryl, who slid forward, sitting in the doorway, unable to meet Rick's eyes.

"Daryl? What the hell happened to you?" Rick asked anxiously, looking at the cast and his torn vest.

When Daryl didn't respond, the former sheriff looked to Miguel, obviously wondering where he knew the skinny kid from, unable to place him.

"They took her...his _wife_..." Miguel said sadly, feeling shared guilt for not being able to protect the kind woman that his friend loved so much. Rick and Hershel exchanged a stunned look and looked back to Daryl, who continued to stoically stare down at his broken leg.

"Carol..." he finally rasped, "They took Carol..."

"Who took her?" Rick asked, "Daryl! _Who took her_?" And at that Daryl's head came up and the fury in his bloodshot eyes made Rick involuntarily take a step back.

"Warlord in Senoia." Miguel told them, setting the now calm pup down. "Calls himself _Valtamr_-"

"Same prick killed Merle...Andrea..." Daryl said viciously, looking at Carl, echoing his words to Rick after the prison raid, "Same prick _you_ didn't kill when you had the chance at the mill," he accused Rick with righteous anger. He slid forwards and Carl and Miguel took his arms to help him out of the car. Miguel got his crutches for him and Daryl leaned heavily on them, obviously in pain, but ignoring its pull.

"The Governor?" Beth said, her brow wrinkling with fear. He was the monster that haunted the dreams of the Woodbury children she had to comfort. He was their boogie man, their devil...

_"Blake."_ Hershel said with distaste.

"We got yer medical shit to save Glenn's life." Daryl said to Hershel bitterly, "Only had to trade _her's_ for it." The pain in Hershel and Beth's eyes at his cruelty gave Daryl pause. It wasn't their fault any more than it was Glenn's for being sick...he could hear Carol chiding him, urging him to apologize.

"Oh god, _Daryl_..." Beth said, tears in her eyes and she rushed to embrace him. He stood still, enduring her hug, but made no move to return it. Beth released him, looking up at his stony countenance with concern, but backing away, into her father's side. Hershel put a comforting arm around her.

"We'll get her back, Daryl." Rick said, leaning close, forcing the tracker to look at him. Daryl's dark look sent a chill down Rick's spine; he knew he'd have a battle on his hands if Daryl's one track mind fixated on this, remembering his explosive determination to rescue his brother.

"Hershel!" a young curly haired boy came running up then, a little out of breath. "Dr. Stevens says come _now_!"

"Is it Glenn?" Hershel asked, but the boy shook his head in negation.

"It's Maggie." He said solemnly. Beth gave him a look of panic and took off for the door to the interior, followed by the boy and Hershel, moving as quickly as he could on his artificial leg. Everyone else exchanged worried looks, but knew there was nothing they could do but keep working on the tasks at hand.

"Let's pull the car up to the loading dock so we can get this equipment in." Rick ordered Carl, who jumped in the Hyundai and started it up. Then he turned to the young man who'd come with Daryl, looking at him closely again and tilting his head.

"Miguel." The kid said, nodding towards Daryl, "Your man there grabbed me up in the AT when the Vatos took Glenn?" he reminded him.

"Miguel? My god, we thought you were all dead!" Rick exclaimed. _"How?"_

"Weren't there when it went down...me, G and Felipe."

"G made it?" Rick asked. He'd liked the young custodian, pressed into leadership by virtue of his natural charisma and ability, understanding the burden of caring for a group of innocents. Miguel nodded.

"Gotta a crib on the outskirts of Senoia where Felipe's sister lived. Rescued Dixon and his wife from raiders and took them in." That was the second time the kid had referred to Carol as Daryl's wife. Rick looked over at Daryl questioningly, but then realized how pale and shaky his friend actually was, staying upright only through the force of will and anger.

"Let's get you inside." He said, and Miguel went to Daryl's side to help him, but Daryl at first refused.

_"Lemme be!"_ he barked, shrugging off the youth's hand, swaying slightly from the effort. Gus danced around the two of them, whining in concern.

"_Pendejo_-you wanna fall flat on your lily white ass, no skin off my nose, but if you want yer boss to think you got the _cojones _to go after the Mamacita, you prob'ly wanna stay upright." Miguel hissed sotto voce and Rick pretended not to hear. Daryl looked like death warmed over-obviously some serious shit had gone down on this trip-and he needed medical care.

"Fine." Daryl snarled, passing his left crutch to the kid and letting him support his shoulder on that side, hopping on his right leg towards the interior.

"Work detail's unloading." Carl said quietly to his father, coming up beside him. Rick nodded in acknowledgement. "I can get a wheelchair." He said, looking at Daryl's slow progress. Rick snorted.

"You like living dangerously, don't you, son?" And Carl chuckled softly in reply.

"Did that Mexican dude say Daryl and Carol were _married_?" Carl asked curiously.

"Sounded like it." Rick agreed.

"You gonna ask him about it?" Carl asked.

"What do you think?" Rick looked down at his boy, raising an eyebrow.

"I think it's about time." Carl pronounced, tipping his head back to look up at his father from under his hat.

"Then we'd better get her back for him, hadn't we?" Rick said, looking deadly serious again, and Carl nodded, frowning. The Grimes men moved to follow Daryl, Miguel and Gus into the building.

"Hey dad?" Carl said as they were walking away.

"Yeah Carl."

"Daryl's got a dog."

"Saw that." Rick said, putting his hand on Carl's shoulder. "Looks like he's had a busy coupla days."

* * *

"What's your name?" the officious looking small man, wearing beige slacks and shirt asked Carol as she stood before him clad only in her white cotton underwear and wearing leg shackles. She had been made to remove her clothes in the room next to this one and had kept her cool, knowing that what she had on now was the same as what most people wore to the beach, Angel's story of distancing herself, not letting them know she was affected, uppermost in her mind. The lone guard in the room looked bored, but cradled an AK-47 and wore what looked like Daryl's buck knife hanging from his belt.

Carol had thought about this question while she rode in the back seat of the Jeep, squashed between the sweaty stinking unwashed bodies of two of the men from Blake's group. She'd worked hard to keep any mention of Daryl's or her name from the last conversation she'd had with him in front of the men. If word of her association with the Dixons reached the ears of any of the people who had known Merle or Daryl from Woodbury, she could be signing her death warrant.

"Rose." Carol lied, choosing the special symbol between her and Daryl for her alias.

"Excellent, we don't already have a Rose and our Lord _does_ like the flower names." The little clerk said, writing on his form. "Any special talents?" Carol favored him with her patented, what the hell are you talking about? raised eyebrow look.

"Talents?" she asked.

"Do you sing, dance, do gymnastics and/or other sports? Have any special weapons training? Were you an exotic dancer, prostitute, cheerleader, and/or model?"

Carol shook her head at the odd list of what were considered "talents" here. She wasn't about to tell them she knew weapons and had katana training with Michonne. That was a sure way to get a ticket straight to the arena.

"I'm a nurse." She told him, hoping that had some value to them. The man's pencil stopped in mid air.

"Really? You're a trained medical professional?" he said suspiciously. Others had tried this ruse with him before.

"I successfully treated a man who was bitten...amputated his...arm. He survived." She told him, fudging a little on the details. His curiosity was clearly aroused by the story and he questioned her for a bit on the procedures she'd used.

"Well, fill out this medical history on that type writer over there-you've used one before I assume-you're what 40?"

"36." Carol told him, shaving a couple of years off her age. "I've been going grey since I turned 30." She shuffled over to the desk and sat in front of the manual typewriter in which the form she was supposed to fill out had already been placed.

"Family trait?" the clerk asked.

"Asshole for a husband." Carol said dryly and surprised him into a chuckle. She typed in as close to possible her real medical issues, knowing they'd see her scars and also that if she needed medical treatment for some reason it was better if they had her real blood type and allergies.

"Martinez will take you to the infirmary for your medical checkup. I'll put a note on your file that says you're a nurse. If they have use for you there you may get assigned." He looked at her with a hint of sympathy. "But don't think that will exempt you from fulfilling your conjugal duties to our Lord and his hall as a member of the Val." He added sternly and then pushed a buzzer on his desk to summon her escort.

Carol took a centering breath and let it out slowly and nodded at the man. From the door at the other end of the room came a young Hispanic man, powerfully built, with short dark hair and eyes, holding an Uzi. He narrowed his eyes at her and then looked angrily at the clerk.

"Give her a robe, Dawkins." He said in a tight voice.

"What?" the clerk blinked, as if realizing only now her state of undress. "Oh. Yes, well!" and he pointed to a stack of bathrobes piled by the wall on a side table. "Take one that fits you, please." Carol chose simple pink chenille that fell to mid calf and tied it around her waist. She gave the new man a grateful look, but he ignored her and motioned her towards the open door next to him.

When he closed the door behind them the man took her arm and led her to a small alcove under a set of stairs. Carol felt her heart racing. Taking her off alone probably meant this is how it began. She swallowed hard, lowering her head, closing her eyes, trying not to imagine what he would make her do, the kindness of the robe probably a way to gain her trust before...

"Mrs. Dixon, I presume?" the man said, shocking her. Her head came up and her eyes came open before she could control her surprise. He pulled the small bag that Angel had given her as they left the clinic earlier today out of his front pocket and handed it to her. She opened it and small box fell out. Inside it she found three small flat pieces of chrome, one shaped like a dog biscuit and the other two like a heart. On the first was etched, "Gus Dixon" and on the others "Carol & Daryl Dixon." Dog tags. Angel had made them all dog tags.

Carol's eyes filled with tears.

The kind gifts had probably just gotten her killed.

* * *

_**I had Daryl and Miguel go straight back to the prison instead of trying to go back and tell the Vatos what had happened, figuring Daryl didn't want to waste the time and that they had already paid their terrible toll to leave Senoia. Prison is where there are the numbers and ability to mount a rescue, and of course Glenn was waiting for their cargo. **_

_**Yes, I worked in the infamous Beth hug from the S4 trailer, when Daryl looks so stoic (hoping that it doesn't **__**really**__** have anything to do with Carol in the show of course!)**_

_**So is Martinez a good guy or a bad guy?**_

_**As always thank you for the wonderful kind insightful reviews! Every day there are also more follows and favorites for which I am humbly grateful. If you know anyone who loves our Caryl and might enjoy this story, please let them know about it. Thanks!**_


	24. Chapter 24: Gifts

_**Daryl and Carol both receive something unexpected.**_

* * *

_24. Gifts_

After it was clear that Hershel and the doctor were too busy with their other patients to see to him, Daryl had escaped the questioning faces of the crowds and confines of the prison buildings and now stood, leaning heavily on his crutches, alone inside the low fence that had been erected around the small prison graveyard, setting it off from the arable land around it that had been pressed into service as garden plots and pasture.

There were graves for Lori, T-Dog, Axel, Oscar, Merle, Andrea, (and others Daryl didn't know like 'Donna' who had been a member of Tyreese's group), though not all of them actually held bodies. Axel's grave had originally been dug for Carol, and while Daryl had felt sorry about the mustachioed man's death, he was glad to have the reminder of when he'd thought he'd lost her filled and its cross repurposed. He looked at it now, feeling lost, not knowing if he would ever see her again, remembering when he'd brought the Cherokee Rose and laid it here to say his goodbye; this time unable to find any peace with that idea. Gus sat still beside him, seeming to sense his mood, wise beyond his brief puppy life. Then the little dog stood, turning and huffed out a small bark of warning.

"I come here sometimes, to talk to her." Carl's young monotone voice said from behind him. "My mom," he came to stand even with Daryl. "I know she's not really there, but it helps."

Daryl just stood there, silently, looking down at the graves.

"Do you ever talk to Merle?" Carl asked, looking up at Daryl.

"Nah. Mostly he talks to me." Daryl said, sighing. That persistent voice of doubt in his head had been silent recently though. Since he'd finally started believing Carol's loving giving one instead.

"I like your dog...what's his name?" Carl said, breaking off a piece of the jerky he'd been carrying with him, hoping for a chance to meet the puppy.

"Gus."

"Cool name—can I give him some a this?" Carl asked, holding the jerky out so Daryl could see it.

"You do and he'll be yer friend fer life; you sure you want him always sniffin' around?" Daryl cautioned. Carl nodded solemnly. "Have at it then." Daryl allowed, "Make him sit first," and he showed him the hand signal he'd been teaching the pup for sit.

"He's smart!" Carl marveled as Gus obeyed and then raised a paw for the boy to shake before accepting the treat. Daryl gave a half smile at the boy's delight with the dog. Carl finished feeding him the jerky and wiped his hands on his jacket.

"Brought something for you too." he said shyly, glancing up at Daryl from under his hat. Daryl raised an eyebrow at the kid. Carl dug in his breast pocket and then held out his hand and opened it to reveal a ring, a plain white gold wedding band. Daryl looked into Carl's eyes questioningly.

"It was my mom's. Before I had to..." he ducked his head, pausing to collect himself _"... before_... I saved it...kept it."

"Carl...your pa should have that...or lil'ass kicker..." Daryl said kindly, but Carl shook his head no.

"I want you to give it to Carol—when we bring her home. She was mom's best friend. Mom wanted you two to get together...it...it would make her happy for Carol to have it. _I know it_." he said adamantly.

Daryl was deeply touched, felt his eyes start to fill, bit the inside of his cheek hard to force the tears back, cleared his throat, swallowed hard, and looked down at Carl's outstretched hand. Unable to speak, he nodded at the young man and picked up the ring. He unzipped a small pocket on the inside of his vest and safely stowed the band inside, resealing it. He reached up and put his hand on Carl's shoulder and gave it a hard squeeze.

"We'll get her back Daryl." Carl said. "There's always hope."

The irony of Carl saying that in a graveyard wasn't lost on Daryl. He looked over at the main fence, at the never ending stream of the dead milling around outside and sighed. Marveled at how the boy could still have the gift of optimism after all he'd been through.

"Let's go check on Glenn and Maggie." Daryl said, giving Carl a couple of rough pats to his back and the two slowly started back up the hill to the prison, the young dog running on ahead.

* * *

"You really Dixon's woman?" Martinez asked in a quiet voice. Carol fought her panic; could she brazen this out somehow? Claim that the dog tags weren't hers?

"Coz' if you are I'll _protect_ you...I owe him...I owe him for Merle..." the man said softly, sadly. Carol frowned at him, was this a trick? Could she be fast enough to grab the gun away from him? She looked for any points of weakness on the man and saw only solid muscle and a guarded watchful wariness. This man was a warrior, like the men she knew and had trained with...like Daryl.

"Merle was my friend. What the govern-what _Blake_ did to him was wrong. He murdered him and left him like that...to turn. He _enjoyed_ it." Martinez slumped back against the wall, looking down at her. "We don't leave our own to turn, even with what he did, coming after the boss."

"Merle was a turncoat?" Carol asked, playing dumb. Martinez shook his head.

"He left to be with family. I get that. He was always talkin' about his brother, how he wanted to find him, what a good kid Daryl was...how he was the only family he had left in this shitty world."

Martinez had met Daryl, liked him, they'd shared some biter killing and a smoke, just like with old Merle. He had grown to hate his life, wished he had the guts to just end it, opt out, maybe take the crazy fuck he'd pledged his loyalty to along with him...

"Daryl found him." Carol said, deciding to risk her life on trusting this man. "After Merle had turned."

"Shit." Martinez bit out, hanging his head. "Nothin' worse than seeing your own blood gone over...having to take 'em out." Carol's eyes filled with tears. "Had to do my wife and sons..." he looked up at her, saw her tears. "Hey-I'm sorry-"

"My d-daughter." She choked out and was surprised when he took her hand to comfort her.

"I'm sorry." He said again, very sincerely. She nodded and took a deep breath.

"Thank you. I'm sorry about your family." She told him, squeezing his hand.

"I didn't care about anything but killing biters for a long time after that."

"Is that how you got mixed up with...with _him_?" she asked, wondering how this seemingly compassionate man had ended up with Blake. Martinez nodded, releasing her hand.

"Found my way to Woodbury, heard they needed muscle to take out the geeks, fortify the town." He looked consideringly at her. "I met him-Daryl-at that mocked up side show of a negotiation at the mill. He seemed like an upright guy. You married long?"

"Engaged." She admitted.

"So those were sort of a wedding gift?" he pointed at the dog tags she still held and she nodded yes. "Who's Gus?" he asked.

"Our dog." Carol said, smiling slightly. And Martinez frowned a little, but then smiled at that a bit wonderingly. He held out his open hand to her.

"Well, sorry, but I need to take em back so I can get rid of them...melt them down so Blake can't ever find them. He'd like nothing better than bait to lure your group in, and tag, sweetheart, you're _it._"

"Can I really trust you?" she asked him then, looking searchingly into his warm brown eyes. "This is my life we're talking about here."

"I hate to break it to you, but _I'm_ the only chance you got of getting out a here alive."

"He'll come for me." She told him with assurance.

"Don't you think that's exactly what Blake wants?" Martinez said, his whisper growing harsh and angry. "Why he takes the women? So their men will try and take them back and then he gets _everything_ they have when he kills them or forces them to trade for their family!"

_"Why don't you just kill him?"_ Carol asked; her eyes flashing, her voice low and furious now. "After everything he's done, after Merle, after Andrea and Milton and everyone on that road? He's evil! He's depraved! I've heard what happens here-his arena-how can you let that go on?"

Martinez's face went stone cold and Carol knew she'd overstepped. She knew that look from years of experience.

"I'm...I'm sorry...I'm sure it's more complicated than I understand..." she backpedaled, knowing how desperately she needed this man as an ally.

"I need to get you to the infirmary now." He told her, holding his hand out again for the dog tags. When she still hesitated he sighed. "Look-they'll find them on you; before your audience with him they do a full body search-a full _cavity _search-do you know what that is?" he said harshly.

"My _audience_?" Carol asked, turning pale.

"All new acquisitions have a face to face with him after they pass med check." He told her. He huffed out a breath. "Then he assigns them to certain select members of the hall for the night... for inspection..." he looked away, down at the floor.

"Sex." She said flatly, and he nodded. "This is so sick." She breathed, pressing her hands to her abdomen and leaning slightly forward, trying to catch her breath.

His head came up and he looked her in the eyes, saw her fear. He'd seen her scars, heard what she'd told Dawkins about her husband, and knew she'd been abused before.

"I'll ask for you." He promised her. "He won't refuse me. I'm in the inner circle."

"Daryl will kill you." She told him with calm menace and certitude. If he thought she'd be willing to sleep with him out of gratitude he was dead wrong.

"I won't lay a hand on you." He said, offended. "I told you. I'll protect you. Now _please_?" he asked again, looking down at her hand and then back up into her eyes. Sighing, she gave him the cloth bag, praying she was doing the right thing. He pocketed it and motioned her back into the long hallway.

"And you need to learn to keep your eyes low-don't spark them at him like you been doing to me-he'll see it as a challenge, might decide to keep you for himself." He warned her.

Carol was startled by the admonition. When had she stopped keeping her head down, her eyes low, acting the subservient mouse, afraid of her...her _husband's _shadow? Was it when she had put a pick axe through his head? When she had learned to shoot a rifle and kill a walker with nothing but a knife or a sharpened piece of rebar? When she felt worthy of the gift of Daryl Dixon's love..._oh my sweet Daryl_, she thought, _you must be losing your mind with guilt and worry._ She hoped Rick could keep him from doing something reckless.

* * *

_**When Daryl is cautioning Carl about feeding Gus, saying that "he'll be your friend for life...always sniffin' around..." I couldn't help thinking of all of the times that Carol feeds Daryl (-;**_

_**I liked the idea of Carl and Daryl having a quiet moment together again; Daryl has always related well to the boy, looking out for him like when he asked Beth to watch over Carl before he and Maggie went on the formula run or when he shared the story of his mom's death as they cleared the Tombs or when he promised Carl he'd keep an eye on his dad when they went to rescue Glenn and Maggie from Woodbury. (& I even made myself a little verklempt with him passing on Lori's ring...)**_

_**So yes, Martinez is a good guy here, but he has to walk a fine line. There are other players in the Halls of Val who are always looking for advantage...**_

_**Thanks to guest reviewer "Jay" for the kind words of praise and to all of you wonderful people who follow & write reviews and especially those that I hear from every time I post a chapter, BLuIcy, horrorphile, RadiantSiren88, Dixonrocks, adelicateflower08, DarylDixon'sLover and my first reviewer, vickih! You keep me writing! (I hope I didn't forget anyone!) **_

_**Next up, Glenn's decision.**_


	25. Chapter 25: brave new world

_25. "...brave new world..."_

"_No!"_ Glenn exclaimed, horrified, turning to face the white winged angel standing behind him. "Why did she_ do_ that?" He had just watched Carol let them take her instead of the medical equipment in the car, Daryl's gut wrenching howl echoing off of the walls in the open interior space of the prison meeting room.

"It was her choice." Paschar said quietly.

"For _me_." He said dully, the guilt overwhelming him. "She did it for _me."_ They watched as Daryl clawed his way back up into a standing position, refusing Miguel's help, pulling himself along by hanging onto the side of the car and ripping open the back compartment hatch. He lifted several of the boxes and found what he was looking for, his cross bow, quiver and several guns, hidden inside a crate marked 'surgical drapes.'

Miguel, carrying Gus, followed him around and they argued. Daryl obviously wanted to chase after the Jeep that Carol had disappeared into, but Miguel quietly pointed to the heavily armed sentries watching everything they did. The look of desolation and defeat that came over the tracker's face at that point brought tears to Glenn's eyes. Daryl hung his head, throwing his bow back down into the car in frustration. Miguel tentatively put his hand on Daryl's arm and he flinched, pulling away, glaring at the boy.

"They just found each other. It isn't fair." Glenn said, "I thought it was about working together-not going it alone-how can they do that when they're ripped apart like this? _It's not fair_!"

"Would you diminish her sacrifice?" Paschar asked him curiously. "Would she be the woman you know and love if she had done any less? If they had simply given up the equipment?"

"They could go back to the Vatos-get more-they-" Glenn tried, but Paschar nodded her head side to side.

"They took all there was in that place to help you." She told him. "...all there was in that town that was not controlled by the warlords." Her wings fluttered out and she moved to stand beside him. "If you are to live, this was the only choice possible." She raised her hand and the screen went dark. She looked at him, her smile going sad.

"What?"

"It's time Glenn."

"I can't."

"They'll be back with the equipment soon; you'll be in surgery. You have to decide."

"Carol just gave her life for mine...I can't... I can't just throw my life away...but I won't let Maggie die either..." he looked beseechingly at the angel, begging her not to make him choose.

"Then you have made the choice." Paschar said with finality. The screen lightened and they saw Daryl and Miguel's arrival, the greetings and explanations.

_"Hershel!" a young curly haired boy came running up then, a little out of breath. "Dr. Stevens says come now!"_

_"Is it Glenn?" Hershel asked, but the boy shook his head in negation._

_"It's Maggie." He said solemnly. Beth gave him a look of panic and took off for the door to the interior, followed by the boy and Hershel, moving as quickly as he could on his artificial leg._

"Wait!" Glenn said, "I _didn't!"_ he looked terrified, panicked."Is it her? Is it the baby?"

"If the baby survives, Maggie will carry it to term, but then in seven months she will die as Lori did, in delivery." Paschar said solemnly. Glenn sank into a chair, numbly staring at the screen as it showed Hershel and Beth racing to be with Maggie.

_She lay, pale and upset, on an examining table in the prison infirmary as behind her a steady stream of people carried in the equipment from the car, readying the space for Glenn's surgery. Dr. Stevens was replacing the bloodied sheet under her hips, looking grim. Beth was there then, taking her sister's hand and looking up at the doctor._

_"I think I'm losing the baby." Maggie told her sister, trying to hold back tears. Beth, also trying hard not to cry, gave her an encouraging smile._

_"Daryl's back-he brought the things to save Glenn." Beth told her, nodding at the workers._

_Maggie looked, as if noticing all of the quiet busy people for the first time. She started crying then and nodded, taking both of Beth's hands in a tight grip._

_"Thank god." She said, smiling, but then grimaced in pain. Dr. Stevens pulled the curtain around them, blocking off the smaller space from view by the rest of the room._

_"I'm sorry, dear, but I need to check you again." The African American woman told Maggie, who nodded in acknowledgement. Hershel arrived then and both of his daughters looked to him._

_"Daddy." Maggie said through her tears and Beth released her sister's hands so Hershel could grasp them._

_"My precious girl." Hershel said warmly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He looked down at Stevens, who was working under the drape she'd placed over Maggie's knees._

_"I'm going to do a quick consult with your dad, Ok?" She said quietly, pulling down her stethoscope from her ears and looking at Maggie and then Hershel. Hershel and the doctor went outside the draped area and talked as quietly as they could. _

_"I'm not hearing a fetal heartbeat." Stevens said. _

_"We need to induce labor." Hershel said. The two exchanged a worried look. If the fetus, only two months along, was dead, would it turn? What would be the consequences of that to Maggie?_

_"We __need__ an x-ray or a sonogram and a long needle." Stevens said._

_"Destroy the brain?" Hershel asked, shaking his head, sickened by what they had to contemplate. Stevens nodded. It was the only way to be sure._

_"Daddy!" Beth screamed, and Maggie cried out in pain. Dr. Stevens swiftly went back inside the draped area._

_Miguel came over to Hershel and took his arm, stopping him._

_"We brought the portable sonogram unit from the vet clinic—where you want it?" Hershel looked dumbfounded and then spontaneously hugged the young vato._

Glenn sat watching the event unfold in horror.

"You said she'd be ok!" He looked back at Paschar. "It was one or the other—not both—_please not both_!" The angel remained impassive.

_"Where's Carol?" Dr. Stevens asked, "She could be prepping Glenn for surgery." She gave Maggie a sedative injection to calm her in preparation for the procedure. The sonogram had allowed them to determine the fetus hadn't survived and they needed to insure there was no chance that the worst case scenario might happen. Beth and Hershel exchanged a look, and then he made sure that Maggie was out before he spoke, not wanting to upset her._

_"She didn't come back..." Hershel told the doctor and Stevens' face fell. She had become friends with the capable woman with whom she had spent so much time, training her in medical procedures over the last several months._

_"Dead?" she asked._

_"Taken...by Blake." Hershel said. Stevens' eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. Like so many of the former Woodbury residents she bore a certain amount of guilt over her support of the Governor's regime. When she had found out the extent of his depravity she had been sickened. That Rick and his group had the grace to accept any one of them, let alone __all__ of the survivors, had put her firmly on their side from the moment she arrived at the prison._

_"I am sorry..." she knew how much Carol meant to all of the originals. "How's Daryl handling it?" she asked, also knowing that the bowman and her nurse had been dancing on the outskirts of a relationship ever since she'd known them._

_"Not well." Hershel said, the king of understatement. He sighed. "I'll go start prepping Glenn."_

"Glenn." Paschar said, touching his shoulder. Glenn looked up at her and almost fell off of the chair. Behind her was a tall figure in a black hooded robe holding a very large very sharp looking scythe. When she saw how shocked he was, Paschar looked surprised and then turned and made a disgusted face at the grim reaper behind them.

"That's _not_ funny, Azrael." She said crossly, "This was his _child_." The other angel tossed down the scythe and doffed the robe and he was revealed as a darkly handsome six foot plus man with black wavy hair, light moustache and beard with sea blue eyes above, dressed in what looked like a Dolce & Gabbana tuxedo jacket dressed down with a white t shirt and black jeans. Whereas the angel of vision's wings were pure snow white with golden tips, his were jet black with silver. He was a stunningly beautiful being. He was the angel of death.

"Do you know how many children I have had to reap because of this bloody fucking _holocaust_?" he said angrily in a clipped British accent. He looked over at Glenn. "I'm truly sorry for your loss Mr. Rhee, but not everyone appreciates the finer points of my job. The traditional garb works for them."

Glenn nodded slowly, trying to take it all in. The angel of death looked like he'd just stepped out if the latest issue of _GQ_ or _Details_...

"You're _British_?" was all he could think to say.

"Don't know what that should come as a surprise—you employ a lot of us Brits in the colonies, don't you?" he asked archly, smirking.

"So what the hell happened to you? _Why are the dead coming back?" _Glenn yelled, jumping up and getting in the dark angel's face. "Isn't it your job to take them? To stop them from coming back and... and_ killing_ good people? People like Dale and Sophia and Jim and T-Dog and Andrea!"

Azrael's wings rose above his back and an eerie silver light glowed from his head and hands as he glowered at Glenn.

"You presume to know the workings of the universe, little man?" he thundered.

"Why not? Bob said this one was created by _my _will, _my_ choices—why shouldn't I know the rules that govern it?" Glenn returned, standing up for himself.

"He's got you there, brother." Paschar said, raising an elegant eyebrow. The handsome angel subsided, returning to his more human guise, his feathers ruffling back down into place. He looked assessingly at the young man.

"_Moira... Maat_..." he said, "The Harmony of the Spheres—it goes by many names. It's a delicate balancing act—establishing equilibrium within each realm. Sometimes the scales tip too far to one side or the other and a correction must be made. You were in danger of destroying it all here. The ecosystem, the planet...humans just aren't all that essential to how the world works...in some ways it works much better without them."

"So Jenner was right—this is our extinction event..." Glenn said, sitting back down, hard.

"Possibly." Azrael agreed, "But I do have hope."

"You, Azrael? You have _hope_? Extraordinary!" Paschar said.

"_She_ gives me hope." he pointed to the screen at Carol, letting herself be hand cuffed and led away. "_He_ gives me hope," T-Dog throwing himself against two walkers as Carol fled, "and these:" Lori telling Maggie to take her baby, knowing it would be her life; Rick and Glenn, covered in guts, risking their lives to save the others trapped in the store; Glenn taking out the walker that attacked Maggie in the drugstore, then saving Daryl when walker Randall attacked and finally, helping Rick escape the tank, as the two men climbed up the fire escape. Glenn turned to Rick, saying _"I'm a glass half full kinda guy..."_

_"Oh brave new world, that has such people in't."_ the Brit quoted the bard, grinning. He cocked his head, hearing a voice that Glenn could not. "Time to go." he said and disappeared in a flurry of feathers.

"Will she ever come back, ever be born?" Glenn asked softly, heartbroken over the loss of his first child... _Josephine Eun._

"There's always hope." Paschar intoned, and then she vanished as well. One long white feather edged in gold floated down from where she'd been standing, landing on Glenn's foot. He bent and picked it up, turning it over in his hands and the screen flared to life, showing him being wheeled into the infirmary operating room, made as clean as possible by being enclosed in plastic sheeting. The feather began to glow with a golden light that continued to grow until it enveloped Glenn as well and he too vanished.

Azrael and Paschar stood on the bank of the mangrove swamp as Jim docked his boat. Smiling sadly, Jim accepted the small swaddled bundle from the dark winged angel and returned to his craft, rowing slowly across to the western shore, humming a lullaby.

* * *

_**So there you have it, Glenn and Maggie both survive this set of crises, but sadly, the baby does not. Lori's worries about walker babies were obviously still on Hershel's mind...yuk. Not going there!**_

_**Google image search 'David Gandy' if you want to see the model for Azrael in my head ;D**_

_**And yes, his being British was a tweak on how many Brits there are on TWD just working those Georgia drawls!**_

_**The Shakespeare quotation is from **__**The Tempest.**_

_**Thanks again to all followers, favorites and reviewers! You make me smile every day.**_


	26. Chapter 26: But the cat came back

_**Daryl and Carol work to fight their way back to each other.**_

_**Warning: implied sexual abuse.**_

* * *

_26. "But the cat came back..."_

"Then just gimme weapons, you, me, a car and Miguel." Daryl demanded, gesturing impatiently. The argument had been going on for quite some time. Rick had been trying to counter emotion with reason and it wasn't going well.

"No. No way. We can't. We have to wait for Michonne's group to get back-" Rick argued.

"Fuck that. We'll hook back up with G and his crew-do _fine_."

"Daryl, you _know_ what happened when we left the camp with too few defenses and went after Merle in Atlanta!" Rick said, trying to make his friend face reality. With Michonne, Tyreese, Karen and Sasha off; both Maggie and Glenn out of commission, Carol captured and Daryl at less than half strength they were dangerously short of defenders.

"The trap you left _him_ in, Merle cut off his hand. The one I left her in, what's _Carol _gonna hafta do?" Daryl raged, pacing like a caged big cat, the round feet of his crutches snapping hard on the cement floor of the cell block. "Every minute, every _second_ she's there means he can be.._.I know he's hurting her and it's killing me! _I can't leave her to that-not after we..." and he stopped, his head lowered, his chest heaving with unaccustomed emotion. He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes against the tears.

"After you what?" Rick asked gently, waiting, not pushing for a response.

"I'm hers." Daryl said softly. "Don't know where she ends 'n I start anymore. Don't wanna know." He ran his right hand over his face and rubbed his thumb and index finger over his beard in a self calming gesture.

"Then_ believe_ in her, Daryl." Rick said, coming closer, leaning in. "She's not the same woman you had to white knight off the farm-she's stronger now-and she's always been damn smart-that plan that got you up outa that cellar was nothing short of _brilliant_. You have to trust that she'll figure out a way to survive until we can get there."

"What he did to Maggie?" Daryl said, his head coming up, looking Rick in the eye. Rick nodded somberly. "Tip of the iceberg." He said scorchingly. "According to the woman in G's crew he's got a whole pack of 'em just as sick as him pittin' women against each other in his arena, death matches and _then _walkers and rapers."

"How'd they rescue _her_?"

"Bought her...after she'd been gone a month. She was shattered, Rick..._broken_." Daryl told him, his eyes haunted. It would be everything Carol had escaped when Ed had been killed, every nightmare relived in Technicolor terror.

* * *

Daryl remembered a conversation he and Carol had shortly before coming to the prison. They were holed up in a gated long term storage facility on the outskirts of a small town. He'd strained a muscle in his side while out hunting-on the same side as his bolt wound-and when Hershel had been examining him, Carol had accidentally come into the room. When she saw his state of undress Carol had backed out the door swiftly, apologizing.

Afterwards, when she had brought him his dinner, she'd asked how he was. He'd admitted he wasn't as young as he used to be, that his old injuries sometimes ached like hell in the cold or wet. She'd nodded in agreement, and then climbed up to sit beside him on the hood of the pick up and asked him how many times he'd been injured as badly as his fall down the ravine.

"You mean close to dyin'?" he'd asked with a frown, using his fingers to snag a piece of the rabbit meat in the stew she'd cooked up on the camp fire and popped it in his mouth. She frowned at him and he exaggeratedly pulled out his big red spoon and used it to scoop up some broth. She'd added some sort of dried herbs to it, rosemary maybe? She was always collecting them from whatever houses they sheltered in, drying them, and carrying them in her pack in little baggies. She was a damn fine cook.

"I guess." She'd nodded.

"Well, guess when I got lost in the woods..."

"_You?_ Lost on the woods?" she said in disbelief.

"I was 8." He said, and told her the same tale he'd spun for Andrea, hoping it didn't make her think too hard on Sophia, but she just nodded again. At least _she _didn't laugh at his itchy ass...

"I fell out of a tree when I was 6. Climbed up after my kitten..." she said wistfully, she'd loved being so high up above the worries of her everyday life on the ground. "Broke my collarbone." She pulled her shirt collar to the side and pointed at a slight bump on her left clavicle. Daryl literally felt his mouth water looking at the soft pale freckled skin she exposed. He swallowed hard and she frowned at the intensity of his gaze.

"Yer lucky-could a been yer neck." Daryl said awkwardly, trying to cover his mistake of looking at her with more than casual interest...with something more like desire.

"That's what my father said." Carol agreed, letting her collar fall back into place.

"Merle ran over me when I fell off his first motorcycle." Daryl pulled his pant leg up to show her a jagged scar on his calf. He's been 10 and riding behind his big brother, thrilled at the speed and the wind until they spun out on a curve and he'd been thrown from the bike while Merle held on. The small Harley Sportster had come to rest on his leg, the twisted chrome slicing through his jeans and his flesh; he'd needed 17 stitches.

"Oh my god!" Carol said, studying the scar closely, reaching her hand out towards it, but dropping it quickly back to her side when she remembered with whom she was dealing.

Neither of them brought up the other scars, the ones better hidden under their clothes.

"So how' bout you? How many times you been close to dyin'?" Daryl asked softly.

"Before walkers, probably two..." the fall from the tree and when Ed had almost killed her as she'd tried to escape with Sophia.

"And after?" he asked slowly.

"The herds at the quarry, on the road and the farm..." the last had of course been survived courtesy of Andrea and Daryl's rescues. She frowned, not sure why he was making her tell him what he already knew.

"Three more?" He said, and she nodded slowly, raising an eye brow at him, wondering where he was going with this. He smiled slowly, devilishly, a devastating transformation of his face into a warm as fresh molasses grin, making her smile in return before she even knew why.

"I'd say ya got four left." He said smoothly, and she snorted at him. "Nine lives, right, kitten?" he added and then he ducked his head, shy again, realizing she might think he'd used an endearment. She'd blushed.

It had become their standard goodbye. After he'd pulled her out of the Tombs, when he'd been leaving for Woodbury, he'd told her to _stay safe_, like he'd heard Glenn say to Maggie so many times, meaning more than the two simple words. He'd thought he lost her, wasn't about to lose her again. She'd smiled at him tiredly, still weak from her ordeal, but happily holding Judith and had come back with, _"Nine lives, remember?" _

She would use number seven when the governor attacked the prison, saved by Axel's head shot dead body shielding her, Daryl though guiltily. He hadn't been there, had gone off with Merle, hurting her, and again she'd almost died.

She was on number eight this time.

Hang on, kitten.

* * *

"Start an IV on her-Ringers-and be careful you don't perf her, she's pretty dehydrated." The harried looking young doctor ordered Carol. She had barely walked into the infirmary with Martinez when they'd been hit by a wave of freshly injured. Carol had jumped in to help with triage and after a quick look at her paper work, needing the help, the doctor decided to give her a trial by fire. He'd told Martinez to watch her, make sure she didn't harm anyone, but he hung back and gave her room to work.

Carol said a silent thank you to the thorough training Stevens and Hershel had given her as she dressed wounds and stitched slices in the flesh of the women who came before her. The girl she was working on now looked like a teenager, thin, waifish, with no visible wounds, but unconscious. After administering the IV Carol did a more thorough examination of her, cutting away and removing the ridiculous white faux Viking maiden outfit she wore. Bruises were starting to show on her small breasts, abdomen and hips. Dried blood and semen stained her thighs. Carol briefly closed her eyes against the painful sight, but then opened them, staring angrily at Martinez. It wasn't enough that he would protect _her_; what about all the other women here?

Martinez' eyes narrowed and he shook his head at her in warning. Carol glowered at him.

"I think that's the last of them for now." The doctor said, snapping off his latex gloves. He checked the stitches Carol had done on a tall red headed woman and nodded approvingly. Then he came to stand by the bed where Carol had started to gently wash the girl who had been raped.

"You want us to come back later for her intake exam?" Martinez asked.

"No, just give me a minute to get set up. You did nice work, _Rose_ is it?" Dr. West asked pleasantly as if there was nothing odd about what had been done to the girl lying on the bed. Carol gritted her teeth, taking a few seconds to get her fury under control.

"Thank you." she said evenly, continuing her work.

"RN or LPN?"

"Vet tech and then EMT." She told him, hoping that covered any errors she might make in strict medical procedures.

"I'd have said something like that or a MASH unit—you're quick at triage and sutures. Neat work. Just what we need around here, all those god damned swords." he nodded to himself. "I'll have a word. Get you assigned. Put you under my protection." he said in a self satisfied voice that made the hairs rise up on the back of Carol's neck. Carol's head came up at that, exchanging a look with Martinez.

"She's already spoken for, Doc." Martinez said firmly. The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"You? You never..." but then he stopped himself, looked at Carol. "She's the one, isn't she? She's like your Adrianna." he nodded with satisfaction, thinking he had the other man pegged. He sighed exaggeratedly and held his hands wide. "Fine then."

"You still need her in the clinic." Martinez said, knowing that if West refused it could spell trouble for Carol; she'd be more likely to end up in the arena...

"Yes, yes, I do." the doctor said, and Carol took a minute to further assess the man. He was only about 5'8", with dark unruly curls and a red beard—scruffy was a word she would use to describe him. His scrubs were a bit frayed and stained...his look not exactly inspiring a lot of confidence in his medical professionalism, but he had handled the influx of patients with ease and had used proper disinfection practices.

"All right then." Martinez said and then glanced at his watch, "Need to get a move on."

"Right." West said, looking down at Carol who was still taking care of the young girl. "Any major health issues?" he asked. Carol looked up at him in confusion. "Do you have any major health issues? Diabetes, high blood pressure, cancer?"

"No."Carol told him, wondering why he didn't just finish reading the paperwork she had so laboriously typed on the forms earlier.

"Are you pregnant?" he asked, making Carol's heart jump a little. As she'd told Daryl, it was extremely unlikely, but possible... At her hesitation the doctor went over to a cabinet and pulled out an EPT test and held it out to her. "Better make sure."

"How soon..." She began, making no move to take it from him.

"Depends on where you are in your cycle—how recent the sexual activity was..." and he shot a sly glance at Martinez and missed Carol's look of disgust. "We can wait a few days on it." he told her, putting down the box and fishing around in the cupboard for a different one and handing it to Martinez. "Until we get her blood tests done, make sure you use these from now on, cowboy." he said in a jocular voice.

Martinez took the proffered box and Carol saw the distinctive logo of a Trojan warrior. It gave her pause, not because of its contents, but rather the legend of the ancient war it represented. She was no Helen, yet warrior forces were probably gathering their weapons to come to her rescue even now. She preferred to think of herself as the tribute horse brought inside the city precincts by a proud king, never suspecting it would be his undoing.

If she was careful and lucky she might just be able to do something to not only get herself out of this, but help the other women as well. Killing Blake herself might be aiming too high, but convincing someone else to do it... she looked over at Martinez, who was trying to figure out what to do with the box of condoms he'd just been given. She sensed his discontent; his guilt over Merle and willingness to protect her were signs that he had serious doubts about the man he'd followed for so long.

Martinez stuffed the box in his back pocket, pursing his lips as he looked over at her, lowering his eyes, reminding her to do the same.

"Stop back after and we'll draw blood-don't want to keep the assembled _Valhalla_ waiting." West said cheerfully.

Carol looked down at the girl she'd been tending, felt her forehead, and wished she could do more for her. She pulled the sheet to cover the rest of the young woman's body.

"I'm sorry this happened to you." She whispered, leaning close and then stood up.

"You need to change." Martinez said, pointing her towards a clothing rack beside the door. Garments similar to what she had just cut off the girl hung there, arranged by size. Carol gave him a look that said, _seriously?_ And he gave her a look in return that replied, _it's deep shit from here on out._

When she had changed, Martinez led her down a short hallway and then up a set of stairs into what looked like it had once been a ballroom. It was in the process of being turned into a Viking hall.

Several workers were up on scaffolding on one of the long walls. When she got closer Carol saw that they were painting a larger than life size mural of the Norse gods, with each face looking like it was a portrait of someone specific. At the center, seated on a throne decorated with writhing, almost alive Celtic style interlace carvings, was the man himself, Phillip Blake, as Odin, or _Valtamr_ as he was styling himself these days. It was over the top and frighteningly vivid. He presided over battling gods and goddesses, some of whom were complete except for the faces.

Martinez touched her shoulder, urging her forward. She hadn't realized she'd stopped, arrested by the bizarre wall, and moved forward again. She found herself in the main part of the hall where two long wooden tables had been set facing each other and a third smaller one was set as the head table, placed higher on a raised platform. Most of the seats at the tables were filled as was the throne, by Blake himself. Carol walked into the corridor between the tables with a combination of dignity and what she hoped was subservience. The white dress showed off her slender figure and had been designed to hug every curve, low and tight in the bust and hips and then flowing to the floor.

Carol kept her eyes trained on the floor, sure he would see her loathing if she raised them. She held her hands clasped in front of her and waited.

"And who do we have here?" Blake said, oozing sincerity as he addressed Martinez.

"Her name is Rose. She was taken in trade for safe passage in the northern sector by Morton earlier today." Martinez said.

"Come closer, woman." Blake told her and Carol tok a few more steps towards his table. "Do you understand where you are?"

The word _hell _was on the tip of her tongue, begging to slip free if she opened her mouth, so she merely nodded.

"Your man traded you for safe passage. You are chattel, property-_my_ property now. Your body is mine to dispose of as I see fit. Do you understand _what_ you are?"

The implication that Daryl had sacrificed her to safe his own ass burned, but again she forced herself to nod. She knew this was how he broke women down, made them feel as though they were nothing, worthless. She's lived this nightmare before. Survived it.

"You are Valkyrie, body slave and servant of Valtamr. Your life is no longer your concern. You exist only to please me." He said, every syllable dripping with relish. _He got off on this._

Carol took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Look at me, woman." Blake ordered. Biting the inside of her lower lip and swallowing hard, Carol slowly raised her eyes to meet his one, blazing blue with madness.

"Those _eyes_..." he whispered, sounding startled, "Ice blue fire...she is my _Freya_!" The madman cried, standing and coming towards her, pulling his katana sword and scabbard over his head to place it at his back as he moved. "_Valfreya_, I give you honor!" and he took her hands in his and bowed low, elegantly dramatic in his strange garb, a combination of Samurai and Norseman with a little _Lord of the Rings_ thrown in for good measure.

Frightened, Carol looked for Martinez, saw him to Blake's right, frowning. She took it that this was unusual behavior from the murmurings of the other men at the tables.

"Gentlemen, we are indeed honored to have the perfect model for our goddess of beauty and love-the blue-eyed Freya, the chief Valkyrie, a warrior shield maiden and healer. Come, you will pose for your portrait!" He started to lead her towards the giant painting, but the grumblings of the assembled men halted him.

"Sir?" Martinez asked, stepping forward, "I wish to make a claim on this woman." He said formally, forestalling the others, who muttered but waited to see Blake's response before they objected.

"Why you and not Morton, who found her?" Blake asked, his voice a bit suspicious. Martinez came closer; his head low, and stood right next to his boss.

"She's...she reminds me of Adrianna, sir." Martinez said softly. Blake tilted his head, thinking, considering this carefully.

"Your late wife." He said, nodding sagely. Then he clapped the smaller man hard on the back and spoke with great gusto, "About time you decided to enjoy the fruits of our labors here, old friend. I was beginning to think you left your dick back in Woodbury!" and then he laughed uproariously and slapped Martinez on the back again. Blake crudely grabbed Carol's behind then, testing its firmness, and then lifted her chin in his right hand, staring into her eyes, while his left hand moved to hold her breast, thumbing the nipple to hardness. Martinez's eyes narrowed, but he didn't interfere. Carol held her breath, distancing her mind from what was happening to her body, as she'd done so many times before in the course of her marriage, welcoming the numbness...

When she didn't fight his touch, Blake released her and looked at her with an enigmatic small smile.

"I'll look forward to your report, Martinez." was all he said, and then he continued to lead her back to the mural. He pointed to the unfinished figure, about half way up the wall, of a woman warrior, wearing a necklace with a rainbow of gemstones and a breastplate corselet over her flowing gown, holding a shield and spear in her right hand while with her left she held the reins of the animals pulling her elaborate yet dainty looking chariot. As Carol's eyes moved to see the steeds she let one side of her mouth turn up into the barest of smiles. The chariot of Freya, blue eyed Norse goddess of beauty and love, was pulled by two large tabby cats.

_Nine lives, Daryl..._ she said in silent prayer.

* * *

_**It's going to be an Angsty few chapters here, people**_.

_**I have always wondered what the "Nine lives, remember?" remark really meant. It felt like there was a Caryl scene we missed in some earlier episode. So this is my head canon on it. **_

_**All of the information and symbolism associated with the Norse gods is correct, including Freya's cats.**_


	27. Chapter 27: Betrayals large & small

_**Carol and Daryl find themselves faced with serious trust issues in their respective situations.**_

"_**The power of good is shown not by triumphantly conquering evil, but by continuing to resist evil while facing certain defeat." -Edith Hamilton, **__**Mythology.**_

* * *

_27. "Betrayals large and small..."_

"Try not to move, please." the woman with short brown hair meticulously painting Carol's portrait onto the body of the goddess Freya said quietly. It was after midnight and Carol had been awake since 5:00 a.m. In that time she had escaped a pack of feral dogs, walkers, and one set of raiders; rescued a puppy, had met the Vatos, made love to Daryl on a set of stairs and in a shower; and then had been kidnapped, forced to strip, worked triage in a poorly equipped ER, been humiliated by the man who had murdered some of her best friends and now sat in front of a gigantic tribute to his bad taste, being immortalized.

"I'm sorry." Carol said, hoping she didn't pass out. She gripped the arms of the chair more tightly to keep from swaying. The artist paused again and then sighed. She gave the guard a quick look and then put down her brush and palette. She knelt and dug in her canvas bag and pulled out a granola bar, an apple and a small bottle of water.

"I'm taking five, Sawyer." she called out and the guard frowned but nodded his assent. She came to stand in front of Carol, "That means you get a break too." she said, "Relax, or stand up and stretch." She gave her the choice of the bar or the fruit. "Eat." Carol took the apple gratefully and slumped in the chair as she bit into it. Nothing ever tastes as good as the food you eat when you are truly hungry. This was the most wonderful apple in the world.

"Thank you." Carol said, tearing up at the kindness.

"Mel." she said, looking over to the dais where Blake usually sat, "his nibs calls me _Melisandre_, but it's just Melissa, _Mel_." Blake and the men had departed soon after Carol's audience, leaving Martinez and two other guards to watch over her and the mural workers. Mel ripped open the bar's wrapper, took a bite, chewed and swallowed. "He obviously watched one too many episodes of _Game of Thrones, Vikings, _the whole Tolkien film series and _The Last Samurai_...or maybe _Shogun_..."

"I'm Rose." Carol told her with a small smile. "You're a very good artist."

"This shit?" Mel snorted. "I just do as I'm told, no matter how ridiculous and inaccurate. Better this than the arena."

"Inaccurate?" Carol said, confused. Her knowledge of Norse myth was limited.

"I'm an art historian—well, at least I was. This is my thing—mythology, the gods as depicted in the arts. Freya? She was a _bad ass_. A magical Vanir goddess of war who swept down onto battlefields and took half the dead away from Odin to party in her halls with their loyal wives! Not this bullshit love goddess caricature he's got me turning you into... her tears were gold when they fell on the earth, amber when they fell in the sea... and her golden necklace, _Brisingamen_, the one that she bargained her body to the dwarves for? Oh most high said he couldn't see it from his throne unless I painted it in _bright_ colors and then he wanted _tabby_ cats, which didn't exist in northern Europe at the time, because he likes their fucking stripes!" The woman had done the whole tirade in practically one breath.

Carol looked towards the guards, wondering if the artist was going to get punished for criticizing Blake, but the guard just rolled his eyes.

"He's heard it all before, haven't you, Sawyer?" she laughed, holding the water bottle out to Carol who accepted it with a nod of her head.

"Can it, Mel. Break's almost up." The tall blonde man said gruffly, looking towards the door meaningfully.

"Ok." Mel said, her face changing from warm animation to a blank mask. She stuffed the bar in her pocket and quickly grabbed up her painting implements. "Stash it—_now."_ she told Carol, who took one last bite of the apple and dropped it and the water bottle beside her chair between it and the wall.

Blake strode back into the hall, followed by the doctor Carol had met earlier and two other men she hadn't seen before, both wearing similar get ups to their ruler, including katanas _and_ side arms.

"_Melisandre_, we still need a Freyr." Blake said, looking up at her progress assessingly.

"Yes sir." the art historian said submissively, showing she knew when to silence her opinions.

"Which of these men do you say most favors our blushing Rose?" he asked her, motioning the men forward and smiling up at Carol who didn't respond. "They were brother and sister after all."

Mel looked both men over, but frowned. Seeing this Blake looked more closely at the two and sighed.

"You're right—neither is good. I'll consult Mimir. Carry on." and he turned on his heel, motioning the two men to follow.

"I need to take some blood now." Dr. West said after Blake had left the room, motioning towards Carol and holding up a medical caddy.

"Make it quick." Mel said, "I need her here if I'm to get this done tonight. After initiation tomorrow she won't feel much like sitting up for a few days."

The puzzled worried look on Carol's face told the artist that she hadn't been made aware of the ritual to come.

"_God damn it_ _West;_ Martinez-you didn't tell her?" the woman said in an angry quiet voice looking accusingly at the two men.

"Watch your tone, dabbler." West snapped, narrowing his eyes. "There's a chance she may be pregnant so I asked the Allfather to delay her ceremony and he agreed." Mel looked shocked and turned back to Carol, a look of great sadness coming and going on her face quickly, replaced by that same blank look she had affected with Blake.

"Do you want her down there or are you coming up?" Mel said dully, all of the animated anger drained.

"I'll come up." the doctor told her.

* * *

Carol sat for the artist until almost 4:00 a.m. Finally she had been told she could go, but her legs had so stiffened up she cried out in pain when she tried to stand and Martinez had jumped up onto the scaffold and carried her down, while she quietly protested all the way. Even though his touch was impersonal, like he was carrying a bag of grain, she bridled at it, not wanting his help. He didn't have the right to touch her.

They left the room through a set of double doors behind the banqueting tables and went up a short flight of stairs to a hallway with numbered doors on either side.

"This was a hotel and convention center." Martinez told her, setting her back on her feet in front of the door numbered '9.' These were the guest suites for the high rollers...the inner circle got first pick on accommodations." He unlocked the door, pushed it open and flipped on a light switch to reveal a plush large room with a kitchenette, a small living room area and a very large bed dominating the space.

Carol stepped inside and he closed the door behind them.

"There's limited power from generators," he gestured to the lights. "And there is hot water if you'd like to wash up _first_." He pointed towards an open door that led to the bathroom and then came up behind her and stood quite close, leaning down. She could feel his breath on her neck and shivered, but before she could round on him and ask what the hell he was doing his hands grasped her upper arms in a vise like grip. He brought his mouth close to her ear and whispered,

_"I'm so sorry for this, but he's watching us."_ He put his hands on her shoulders then and his lips brushed her ear and then moved to her neck. Carol stiffened, closing her eyes, her hands making fists, wondering what sort of game he was playing with her. He trailed his fingers up to her nape and his mouth moved to her other ear, "_Over the bed, camera,"_ he hissed. A glance to the wall behind the king sized platform bed showed her a glowing red LED light and a small lens almost hidden under a shelf with a statue of some Norse deity.

"Wash up first." She said then, marshalling all of her remaining strength and sanity to remain calm. He stepped back from her and nodded.

"Leave the door open." He ordered, knowing that it would look suspicious if he treated her like a nervous bride and let her hide behind a closed door. Carol nodded back and went to bathroom, finding that someone had left her chosen pink bathrobe, a pink lace trimmed negligee and an assortment of beauty products for her there on the counter. She looked out into the room, but didn't see Martinez, so she quickly washed and changed into the clean night wear. She came back out, with the robe tightly belted around her and saw that he had laid out a cold supper on the bar between the kitchen and living room. White wine, fried chicken, dried fruit, ham, fresh baked bread, jam, and pickles. It looked like he'd emptied the contents of his larder for her.

"Eat something-I'm gonna grab a shower." Unbidden her eyes looked to the empty knife rack, to the stove, to the door for some advantage, for a weapon, for an escape route. He came up in front of her, close again, too close, leaned in and his hand went around her and grasped her nape, his mouth close to hers. _"There are guards everywhere," _he whispered, "_You'll be dead or in the arena tomorrow if you try to run. I promise I won't hurt you." _And then he kissed her, his lips gently moving across hers, his mouth tasting of coffee and mint. He released her and took a step back, pouring them both a glass of wine in plastic Solo cups. He took a very large drink of his and then carried it and the bottle with him into the bathroom.

Carol reached her right hand up and wiped the kiss from her mouth, closing her eyes and breathing hard. She believed him when he said he wouldn't physically hurt her, but she didn't know if her mind and her heart would let her body free to do whatever she had to do now to keep Blake from suspecting them of conspiring against him. _She_ _loved Daryl_, and the thought of being with someone else, betraying him, even if it meant her life, hurt her to the depths of her soul. She looked down at the food, but it only made her sick to her stomach. She lifted the glass of wine to her lips, but then realized that she couldn't drink it...the slim to none chance that she was carrying his child was something that let her hold on to Daryl for a little while longer. She set the glass down and looked around the kitchen for something else to drink, found a stack of cardboard crates of bottled water and gratefully pulled one of the unopened bottles out and drank it down.

"There's tea-I could make you some." Martinez said from behind her. She turned and blushed at his state of undress. "I like a woman who can still blush..." he said in a sultry voice. He had changed into dark grey sweat pants that hung low on his hips and wore no shoes or shirt, his close cropped hair still wet. He was deeply tan, lean with well defined muscles in his chest and abs. His arms were powerful looking, like he could bench press a steer. He held his pistol and holster in one hand and the box of condoms in the other and crossed to the bed, setting them both down on the nightstand and then turned down the covers. He turned and came towards her.

Carol nodded her head no, not just to the tea, but to the idea of what was expected from her now.

"Did you eat anything?" he asked, looking at her still filled wine cup. Carol shook her head no again. "Ready for bed then." He said and held his hand out to her. She glared at him, defiant, refusing to take it. "It'll go better for you if you cooperate." He told her, his voice growing hard, looking over at the camera, smiling for his audience.

What _part _of this was the act? Carol wondered. Would he betray her now?

* * *

Daryl awoke to birdsong and bright sunlight. He was in a bunk, in the prison infirmary, but initially had no clear memory of why he was sleeping here instead of his own room. The last thing he remembered was telling Rick to go fuck himself and then he had crutch stalked out of the cellblock corridor, ending up in the infirmary, intending to let Hershel take a look at him to prove to the boss that he was in good shape to head up the rescue mission back to Senoia. As he came through the double doors he saw both Glenn and Maggie in the recovery area, being tended to by Beth, Hershel and Stevens. The young curly headed kid, Davy, who worked for the Doc as a runner came up to him and looked wide eyed at his cast.

"Geez, Mr. Daryl, you really did break your leg. Where's your puppy? Carl said you got a puppy. Can I see it?" The kid was exhausting at the best of times, and right now Daryl had the patience of a gnat.

"Go find Miguel." He said, "He's got Gus." The vato had come in sometime during the argument with Rick and taken the pup away.

"Gus! Yeah, that's what Carl said his name was. Were there any more puppies there? Where you got him? I wish I had a -" Daryl put one finger to his lips and said _shhh _to the boy and pointed out the door. Something in his expression told Davy that now was not the time, and he made an apologetic face and took off.

"Daryl! How are you doing, son?" Hershel said, looking up.

"Have to help him..." came a weak voice from the bed next to him... "_Save Carol..."_ Daryl moved closer, saw that Glenn was awake and looking up at him groggily. He held his right hand up and Daryl took it, clasping the young man's forearm as he sank into the chair next to the bed that Hershel had just vacated. Over his head Beth and Hershel exchanged a puzzled look.

"How ya doin', Short Round?" Daryl said emotionally, relieved beyond telling to see Glenn awake. Glenn roused a bit more, blinking at Daryl, trying to clear his vision.

"Haven't called me that in a while, ya redneck asshole." Glenn teased back, making Dr. Stevens snort out a laugh as she watched from the opposite side of the still sleeping Maggie's bed. Beth and Hershel smiled and chuckled as well.

"Ya haven't screwed up this bad in a while." Daryl rejoined.

"I'm sorry, Daryl" Glenn said, now serious. "I'm so sorry they took Carol-after all you went through-how she got you out of the storm cellar-your leg -the dogs-walkers-the engagement-the Vatos-the raiders and that god damn son of a bitch Blake..." he was angry now, trying to sit up, his color high, flaming his cheeks as his dark eyes glittered in fury.

"Take it easy, Glenn." Dr. Stevens soothed, moving to his side. "You've got stitches."

Daryl stared at his friend. Something in that tirade didn't make sense to him...he swayed in his chair slightly.

"When's the last time _you_ slept, Daryl?" Hershel asked, putting a steadying hand on the younger man's shoulder. He looked up at the infirmary clock; it said 4:00 a.m. He'd been awake almost 24 hours.

"Day or so." He muttered, and then felt something cold on his upper arm and then a sharp pinch. He immediately started to feel dizzy and disoriented. He frowned and looked up at Hershel, not seeing the syringe full of a sedative that Stevens had just administered to him.

He looked down at Glenn who had relaxed back into the mattress of his bed. _Engagement_, he thought. He hadn't told anyone here at the prison that he'd asked Carol to marry him. _How could Glenn-_

And the next thing he knew he heard the birds singing.

Feeling betrayed, he realized they'd dosed him. Sneaky bastards. Never trust a doctor or a vet for that matter.

Daryl opened his eyes and looked up at the infirmary clock. It was almost noon. Blake had Carol almost a day. He'd been asleep for eight hours when god knows what had been happening to her. He sat up and looked around the room, saw Glenn and Maggie still sleeping, looked for his crutches and didn't see them. Then he saw he was wearing only a hospital gown-they must've taken his clothes while he'd been out-_son of a __bitch__!_ He wasn't an invalid! He needed to get the hell out of here, get back to Senoia, get back to her... _save her! _He grabbed at the chair that had been placed next to his bed, thinking he could use it to support himself while he looked for his crutches, but knocked it over with a crash instead.

"So you're finally awake." Miguel said, coming into the room. "I just came to say _adios_."

"What? Where the hell do you think you're goin'?"

"Home toSenoia, with your buddy Rick and his crew. Leavin' in a few. Gonna take 'em to G."

"His _crew_?" Daryl couldn't imagine Rick going with just Carl, Beth and Miguel-

"Got back about eight this morning: hot mama with a sword, big black dude with a hammer and his sister; them ones."

"Find my crutches." Daryl growled. No fuckin' way were they going without _him._

_"_Sorry, _ese._ Strict orders. You're too messed up; we need to get in and out _fast _and one legged dudes just don't make the cut." He paused, putting his hand on Daryl's shoulder, "Look, I know she's your woman-"

"_She's my __life.__"_ Daryl said with barely controlled fury. The small betrayal he'd felt at getting dosed was nothing compared to what Rick was doing by shutting him out of this.

* * *

_**Oh our poor dear Caryl! Angst angst angst.**_

_**Thanks to melniewn for her helpful comments on the last chapter; Kevin Crossley-Holland's book, **__**The Norse Myths**__**, and Richard Cavendish's **__**Illustrated Encyclopedia of Mythology.**_

_**Thanks as always for your wondrous reviews. Welcome new favorites and followers : )**_


	28. Chapter 28: Heads up

_**Daryl gets some unexpected help and Martinez reveals something to Carol.**_

* * *

_28. Heads up_

"You go tell Rick _Grimes_ to get his head outa his ass n' get in here NOW!" Daryl bellowed, chewing hard on the man's last name in a way he hadn't done since they'd first been introduced outside of Atlanta, when in a fit of rage Daryl had thrown a dozen or so squirrels at him. He woke both Maggie and Glenn, his voice echoing down the corridors and out the windows until pretty much everyone in the whole prison knew that Daryl Dixon had something he wished to discuss with the former sheriff.

Dr. Stevens came at a run, her face like a thundercloud, furious that her patients were being disturbed.

"What is the meaning of this?" she laid into Daryl, but he glared at her, narrowing his eyes.

"_You!_ You n' that sneaky Santa Claus looking sum'bitch _dosed_ me! Now either gimme my crutches or get that asshole in here so's I can talk to him!" Daryl said belligerently, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "He thinks he's goin' after her without me he's lost his damn mind ..._again!"_

Miguel raised an eyebrow at him.

"Daryl, what's wrong?" Maggie's weak sleepy voice came from across the room.

"It's Carol, honey," Glenn's voice said quietly, "She's...well she's been taken."

"Taken?" the girl said in alarm, sitting up, "How—_when?_"

"When they were in Senoia," Glenn told her. "Blake has her." Maggie looked desolated, flipped the covers off of her and started to stand, but Dr. Stevens intercepted her.

"You can't be up yet, my dear," the doctor told her, easing her back onto the bed.

"I'm sorry, doc, I didn't mean to upset nobody else." Daryl apologized. "Get me those crutches and I'll be outa yer hair."

"Nice try, Dixon, but you're not going anywhere either. You've got a broken leg, you were mauled by a pack of feral hounds that left bites and scratches from your shoulder to your butt, along with more bruises and contusions than I can count including a knot on the back of your head from a blow that for the life of me I don't know why didn't crack your skull."

"_Hard head."_ Glenn muttered.

"Feel _fine_" Daryl hissed.

"Don't sound to me like you got your head _screwed on_ straight." said Rick's voice from the doorway. Daryl turned to see him, followed by Michonne, Tyreese, Sasha and Karen. Carl came in last, carrying Gus, who whined when he saw that both Daryl and Miguel were inside.

"Do_ not_ bring that animal in my infirmary." Stevens told the boy sternly.

"Hell, Yvonne, it's probably cleaner than _Daryl_ usually is." Michonne drawled. The doctor pursed her lips, but then motioned Carl inside. He went to Daryl's bed and handed the pup over. Gus perched on Daryl's lap, wagging his whole behind, happy to be reunited with his man. Daryl put one firm hand on the dog's back and he immediately quieted, sitting down calmly, leaning against the man's body.

"Better behaved too." Tyreese rumbled with a grunt, crossing his arms in front of himself and leaning back on the wall beside the door. Daryl winced at that. He'd have to apologize to Tyreese, but right now it didn't seem like the most efficient use of his limited amount of time.

"We're going after her, Daryl. I'm sorry but you'll just slow us down." Sasha said, putting her two cents in. They all liked Carol, knew how much she meant to the group, how much she meant to _him._

"I need you _here_." Rick said coming over and setting the chair beside Daryl's bed back up and straddled it backwards, his arms resting on the back to sit down and look at Daryl. "I'm taking Miguel, Michonne, Tyreese and Sasha. You, Karen, Carl and Beth—Maggie and Glenn when they're recovered enough—you have to keep things safe here while we're gone," He put his hand on his friend's shoulder, leaning in close, speaking softly now, "I'm _sorry_—I know how helpless you feel, how much you care—"

"Asked her to marry me." Daryl said, interrupting and Rick's head came up. He smiled and shook his head in wonder.

"And what'd _she_ say?" Rick asked, tilting his head to the side, squinting at Daryl.

"Nothin'—just a lot of huggin' and cryin' and kissin'" Daryl said, tears filling his eyes at the memory. His strong beautiful Carol, who for some reason _loved him_... He looked over at the man he trusted most in this world, "I have to save her, Rick. _Me._ She's counting on _me_." He ground out, the tears spilling over. Rick leaned closer and reached out to put his hand comfortingly on the back of Daryl's neck and they all watched, shocked as Daryl broke down, weeping, and let Rick pull him forward into a hug. Gus whined, as unused to this kind of emotion coming from his man as everyone else in the room.

Even when he'd brought back Merle's body he'd been cold eyed, remote; angrily chasing everyone away who offered their help, their condolences, railing at them as hypocrites who'd never wanted Merle there in the first place. The only one who had seen evidence of his true emotions had been Carol, who had wordlessly fashioned a cross from scrap wood as he dug the grave and sat with him after as he quietly and haltingly talked about being too late to save his brother, how he had found him already turned, how he'd lost it. She didn't try to take his hand or hold him, she just moved a bit closer so that her shoulder, hip and thigh brushed his, and he in turn leaned into her, maintaining the contact when she would've moved away.

"I can carry him." Tyreese's deep voice boomed in the silence and all eyes turned to him. "What's he weigh? Buck fifty soakin' wet? Skinny little son of a bitch—all ya are's _gristle_—don't know what that fine woman sees in you..." Daryl pulled away from Rick and looked up at the big man, confused. "How 'bout it hoss? I be your legs, you be our Legolas?" he chuckled at his own lame word play.

"You serious?" Rick asked, sounding skeptical, looking at Tyreese.

"Two heads are better than one—take him piggyback—rig up a harness so my hands can be free too." He brandished his hammer. "Not leavin' this behind." Rick thought about it, looked back and forth between the two men.

"You two got some bad blood 'tween you recently—you willin' to work with him, Daryl?" Rick asked. "Don't think you're gonna get a better offer..."

Daryl wiped at his eyes, impatient with himself for blubbering like an idiot, sniffed in and then huffed out a breath through his mouth. He looked over at Tyreese.

"Thanks man...and I'm sorry about goin' all medieval on yo' ass the other day."

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't understand what I was messin' with." he sighed exaggeratedly, "Why is it you close mouthed sons a' bitches always seem to get the best women?" Michonne, Karen and Dr. Stevens looked at each other.

"Anyone else feeling like chopped liver?" Michonne drawled, languidly crossing the room to stand in front of Tyreese, her hands on her hips.

"Sing it sister." Karen chimed in, leveling her gaze on him as well.

"Men." Stevens snorted, moving to the opposite side of Daryl's bed and reaching down to pull out his crutches, where they'd been the whole time.

"Not _you_, honey." Maggie said reassuringly to Glenn, who smiled over at her.

"Then I guess we're good to go." Rick said, slapping his thighs and standing, ready to help Daryl, who dropped Gus to the floor and was positioning his crutches, to stand.

"I've got a question though." Michonne asked, turning back to Rick. "Are we going there to rescue Carol or to kill Phillip Blake?"

"Carol." Daryl said, standing, his tone brooking no argument.

"Carol's our first priority." Rick agreed, "But if we can take out that piece of shit who gives lunatics a bad name? All for the best."

"You'll never get to him." Miguel, who had silently been watching this whole series of negotiations, spoke up. "His crib is a fortress and he's got a shitload of well armed men just as nuts as him—think they're some sorta Viking Samurais—all got swords like her" he pointed at Michonne "—and guns. Only ones get close to him are them dudes and the women he... he _uses_..._hurts_..." his voice trailed off. Gus came over to him, jumping up on his leg until the kid picked him up.

"Then we need a plan—get one of the women in close to take him out." Michonne said, clearly volunteering for the job. Daryl shook his head no.

"Use your head—he knows you—probably has every one of his raiders on the lookout for you." Daryl objected. "He knows Karen and Sasha too—from Woodbury—they'd never be able to get close to him."

"He never met Carol, so hopefully he won't connect her to our group and that might be keeping her relatively safe." Glenn said then, trying to reassure them all, but especially Daryl.

"He's never met me either." Beth said. They all looked over at her, standing in the doorway. No one had known she was in the hall listening.

"_No_. No way." Carl said quickly, while the rest of them were still figuring out what she meant to do.

_"Bethie, no_!" Maggie exclaimed, horrified.

"Your pa would skin us alive." Daryl told her, even while admiring her bravery and willingness to risk her life for Carol's. Beth looked at him, her gaze strong and her voice firm.

"It's what we do." she said. "I couldn't do anything to save my own mama, but if I can help get Carol out of there, how can I _not_ go?"

"Daryl's right, honey, Hershel would never allow it." Rick said gently.

"I'm 18 now—daddy can't tell me what I can or can't do." the young woman said defiantly. "I can shoot as well as Maggie and I've been working on swords with Michonne—I can do this, Rick."

"_Oye, chica_—you don't know what it's like in there—" Miguel warned her.

"I know it's worse than what he did to Maggie," she looked over at her sister and Glenn, "like what Carol's husband used to do to her," she looked at Daryl. "Which is why we have to get her out of there, _right?"_ she looked around the room, into the faces of all of the people that cared about their friend. Rick walked over and stood in front of her, looking into her eyes.

"You're the one that tells your dad." Rick said, holding out his right hand. She smiled and took it in a firm hand shake.

"Better have the doc standin' by for when his head explodes..." Daryl said dryly. And everyone but Carl chuckled in agreement. The boy frowned and stared at Beth.

"Awright, we got the start of a plan!" Daryl said enthusiastically.

"Honey child?" Stevens said from behind Daryl. He swiveled his head around to regard her. _"Before_ you head out?" she raised an eyebrow at him, "Might want to put on some pants."

* * *

"Rose?" Martinez said, still holding out his hand to her, but now turning to face her so his back was to the camera. Carol took a deep breath, her mouth working to suppress a sob and one tear made its way down her cheek. She looked up into his eyes, and they softened, silently pleaded with her, and then looked anguished at what he was asking her to do.

"_It'll be ok,"_ he mouthed, _"Trust me, please?" _Carol bit her lower lip and reached out her hand and he took it in his and led her to the bed. Standing next to it he untied and removed her robe, letting it drop to the floor and then slowly pulled her into his arms and embraced her. She felt the heat of his body envelop her—he was like a furnace, hot and intense as he held her close. Somehow though it felt like a comforting hug one would give a child, not a prelude to intimacy. He held her head against his shoulder, his fingers moving slowly in a circle at the crown of her head, working to relax her, reassure her.

"You ok?" he murmured.

"No." she said and felt his chuckle reverberate in his chest against hers.

"Give it a minute or two." he said cryptically and then sighed, leaning back so he could look at her. "Ever play seven minutes in heaven?" He asked, and she frowned at him. "Go in a closet with a boy at a party and neck?" She nodded negatively. "And I brushed my teeth and everything," he said, sighing. Her frown deepened.

"This isn't a game." she said softly.

"It's all a game." he said sadly. "This whole shit storm of a world we're living in...Just a game...you're a player or you get played..." he glanced at the camera and then down at the bedside clock. "Just hold on..." and he leaned in, kissing her cheek and then once, softly on the lips, this time she tasted the wine and mint.

Suddenly all of the lights in the room came on at once and then changed to amber flashing. There was a knock on the door.

"Stay here." he told her, releasing her, and swiftly went to the door, unlocking it and whipping it open.

"Biters. Big mother fucking_ herd_!" the man she'd seen before, guarding the artist, said anxiously—Sawyer? She thought. He leaned in, looked at Carol and back to Martinez and then whispered, "_For real,_ _Martinez, never seen this many all together."_ And then she knew this had been a plan between them. The other man was supposed to call Martinez away with some excuse. She sank down onto the bed and picked up a pillow, hugging it to her. It must be the herd that she and Daryl had run into on the road here—they'd finally made it to Senoia.

"You tell the boss?" Martinez asked.

"Yeah—went up on the roof talkin' to...to _it._.." Sawyer said, seeming a bit creeped out. Martinez bit out a few choice swear words and told Sawyer he'd be there in a minute, and then came back into the room. "He wants you to meet him up there." Sawyer added.

"Get dressed—probably need you at the infirmary—sorry, I know you haven't slept." Martinez said to Carol. He had been going to leave her here to rest while he went to do whatever busy work Sawyer had cooked up for him, but now the shit had hit the fan. A herd of this size could seriously compromise the infrastructure of not just their base, but the whole town.

"A herd?" she asked, standing.

"Yeah. Big one." Martinez stripped off his sweats, showing he had been wearing navy blue briefs underneath and then opened a dresser drawer and pulled out jeans, a t-shirt and flannel that he quickly donned. He pulled on socks and boots next and then a baseball cap, set on his head backwards. Carol picked up the white dress she'd been wearing and frowned. It didn't seem the best choice if she was going to be working in an ER setting.

Martinez looked back at her to see how she was coming along and made an exasperated noise.

"He'll give you scrubs when you get there—just get dressed." he ordered, in efficient warrior mode, picking up and putting on his holster and pistol, then moving to the door and then grabbing an aluminum baseball bat from an umbrella stand holding several. _"Vamanos."_

* * *

Martinez left Carol at the clinic, which was gearing up to receive casualties, and made his way to the roof, saying a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn't eaten anything. The half a bottle of wine had given him a low level buzz and had relaxed him enough that he could hold Dixon's woman without dwelling too hard on how sweet she had looked in that wisp of lace, her liquid blue eyes staring into his beseechingly..._ fuck._

Maybe the boss was right; he needed to find a woman. He'd been pretty much celibate since his wife died, with one or two exceptions among the more aggressively sexual women back in Woodbury. The physical release had been good, like scratching a persistent itch, but he hadn't wanted any attachments. He didn't ever want to _care_ about anyone else, maybe never again. He'd had friends, but had lost them when Woodbury fell...well, except one...

Blake stood on the roof of the hotel in the atrium garden there, using binoculars to look out over the town in the misty early morning. The sun was just coming up, lighting the streets below in sienna, yellow and rose pink, but on the southern edge, like a black stain, like a malignant black silhouette eating away at the town, the massive group of dead walked.

Behind him, on a podium made from what had been a five foot tall sundial, rested a dark object with an irregular oval outline. When he heard Martinez clear his throat from behind him, Blake lowered the binoculars and looked back over his shoulder.

"Sorry to have interrupted your time with the pale and blushing Rose. I must say your restraint was admirable—easing her in like that—you can smell how _ripe _she is...I wonder at how her man ever gave her up...but they say you break a mare in gentle she'll stay loyal. Nice not to worry she'll slit your throat in your sleep because you fucked her a little too rough." he said with warm familiarity and a big smile.

"Yes sir." Martinez returned quickly, unwilling to discuss the benefits of seduction over rape.

"Say hello to your old friend, Mimir." Blake ordered, "He's been giving me readings on the best way to deal with this new problem." he told Martinez. Swallowing, Martinez moved to stand in front of the podium and looked up into the face of the only other survivor of the massacre on the road to Woodbury, Shumpert. The dreadlocked African American man had been killed a year ago in the battle for control of this very building, gut shot, a slow painful way to die, but Blake hadn't allowed him to be put down. Instead he watched him die, turn and then used his razor sharp katana to remove his head, claiming it spoke words of great wisdom.

In Norse myth, the woman Mel had told them, Odin's favorite advisor, Mimir, had been sent to his enemies, the Vanir, as a part of a hostage exchange. When they suspected him of giving bad counsel, the Vanir beheaded him and returned his remains to his king. Odin preserved the head with herbs and used magic, giving it back the power of speech, and "its wisdom became Odin's wisdom..."

As far as Martinez was concerned it was all some pretty fucked up shit, whether you were a Viking or some crazy ass bastard in the walker apocalypse. He dreaded his visits to the roof, having to look at the turned remains of one of his last friends and pretend he didn't care. Of course the greatest irony is that in all the time that Martinez had known him, he'd hardly ever heard the man utter a single word.

"Heads up, old friend." Martinez said under his breath. "We're in some deep shit now."

* * *

_**I thought Dr. Stevens needed a first name and she looks like a Yvonne to me!**_

_**I continue to be surprised at how many parallels I can find in Norse myth and TWD. The Governor keeping heads in aquariums was a seriously creepy part of the character's mythos, and so reading that Odin had his advisor's head preserved and kept it by his side was eerie. (Making it Shumpert in this story was sort of an in joke, since I don't remember him ever having a line on the show, despite numerous appearances. One of my favorites is when Daryl deftly swipes his crossbow back while fleeing after the raid on the arena at Woodbury).**_

_**Of course what got me started on using it was looking for one-eyed gods, figuring Blake's grandiose self image wouldn't be satisfied with just being a Governor any more. Then as I was watching the end credits for an episode of the show I saw Valhalla Entertainment, which is Gale Anne Hurd's production company, and it all fell into place!**_

_**Thank you all reviewers, followers and favorites! I'll do my best to keep updating quickly but things are getting a bit busier at work this week, so my writing time is going to be tighter. Please bear with me.**_


	29. Chapter 29: Prelude of the Potentials

_**29. Prelude of the Potentials**_

* * *

"Sit, Bethie."

"Daddy..."

"Please?" Hershel asked, his voice steady and calm, nothing like she'd expected when she'd broken the news that she had volunteered to go on the rescue mission to save Carol. She sat in the chair he'd pulled up next to him.

"I was always so proud of the way you learned your Sunday school lessons—you have an excellent memory—helps with all of those song lyrics you have in your head." he said, smiling slightly.

Beth looked at him quizzically.

"Do you recall the story of David and Goliath?" he asked.

"Of course." Beth said, smiling tentatively. Hershel opened the Bible sitting on the table in front of them.

"1st Samuel 17:41, 'And when the Philistine looked about and saw David, he disdained him: for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and of fair countenance." He read. Beth's lower lip trembled and he took her hand. "I'm proud of you now too—you can do anything you set your mind to, just like that shepherd boy." Hershel said, raising her hand to his lips for a hard kiss and squeeze. "You take my heart with you, you know." he added in a husky voice.

"I know daddy." Beth said, and pulled him into a fierce hug.

* * *

"I knew I saved that mountain climbing equipment for a reason." Glenn said from his infirmary bed as he looked at Rick helping Daryl into the harness. They wanted to have the kinks worked out before they left and since Beth was breaking the news to Hershel while Michonne, Carl and Sasha were gathering supplies, the men were figuring out the best way to rig up Tyreese to carry Daryl. Fortunately his leg had been broken low, close to his ankle, just above the top of his boot, so Felipe had been able to allow the cast to stop before the knee. Being able to bend at that point meant that Daryl could ride with his leg draped fairly naturally, his toes and heel protected by the end of a canvas sling reinforced with duct tape.

"The carabineers have come in handy too." Rick agreed, remembering how they'd used the mountaineering clips to secure the fences when they'd been at the mountain camp and when they'd first arrived at the prison. He looked appraisingly at the fit of the seat harness, the straps that circled Daryl's upper thighs connected to the thick belt at his waist by two narrower ones that rose on either side of his groin looped through a third strap that hung down in the center right below his belly button. The shoulder harness crossed his back in an 'X' and hooked on to the belt through adjustable straps in the front and back.

"Don't pull those front straps _too_ tight or he won't be any good to Carol when he gets her back." Glenn warned, noting the close fit of the straps bracketing his groin, making Rick and Tyreese chuckle and Maggie blush.

_"Fuck you."_ Daryl muttered, flashing Glenn a one finger salute.

"I suppose all men who climb mountains just have to deal with the prospect of a gelding." Rick said, tongue in cheek. Daryl reiterated the gesture in his direction with _two_ hands.

"I guess that makes me the mountain." rumbled Tyreese. "Come on then." He was also rigged with climbing gear including a shoulder harness to which they had added extra padding because he'd be supporting Daryl's entire weight there.

Miguel and Davy came back into the room then with Gus at their heels and the puppy came over and sat in front of Daryl, cocking his head as he looked up at him.

"You gonna be able to fire your bow wearin' all that shit, _ese_?" Miguel asked curiously, earning him a frown from Maggie for swearing in front of the child.

"That's what we're fixin' to see." Daryl told him. It wasn't just the harness that was worrying him though. His shoulder still ached like hell from the bite trauma and his back hurt like it hadn't since the last time his father had used the narrow leather belt with the inlaid silver studs to whip him for some infraction of the rules, stripping the skin off of his back in stripes that formed an angry red 'X' on his left shoulder when they'd healed. The doc had given him his antibiotic shot, (in his left _arm_, thank you very much), but was reluctant to dole out more pain killers until she saw how well he tolerated the dosage he was already on.

Miguel and Rick helped Daryl sit on the higher table used for surgeries and Tyreese crouched in front of him so they could help him climb on to the big man's back and then hook the two men's gear together. The quick release straps would allow either man to break the connection if the situation warranted it. Daryl didn't want Ty to go down as well if something happened to him.

"Comfy?" Rick asked them, and both grunted. "Move then." he ordered, and Tyreese started to walk the circuit of the room, adjusting his stride as he moved to accommodate the weight of the man on his back. A former line backer, Ty was built like a brick house and just as strong, able to bench press more than Daryl weighed. This rig relied on the strength of the muscles on his back and shoulders, not just his arms and legs. He knew he'd be as sore as hell once this was over.

Miguel started to giggle and everyone looked at him curiously.

"Ever see that old sci fi crap fest _pelicula_ called _The Thing with Two Heads_?" the kid said. Only fellow late night film geek Glenn laughed along, noting the resemblance to the monster in the film, played by burly African American Rosie Greer with a very fake looking Ralph Bellamy's head grafted onto his shoulder.

"Take it outside—see how we do on stairs." Daryl said, rolling his eyes at the nerd boys. "Need to try weapons." Stevens had been adamant that no crossbow bolts be fired in_ her_ infirmary.

"I think this might just work." Rick said as he watched the men maneuver out the double doors, but wincing as Daryl's head caught a glancing blow when Tyreese didn't duck low enough, then chuckling as Daryl snatched off Tyreese's ever present stocking cap and swatted him with it repeatedly, impugning his intelligence in scatological terms while Tyreese threatened to dump him on his ass.

_"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."_ Glenn said sagely.

* * *

"I don't want you to go." Carl said, pushing aside the curtain, holding his hat in his hand, standing outside the door of Beth and Carol's cell. Beth paused in her packing and looked up at the boy...the young man...who was looking at her so seriously. He had grown at least eight inches in the last two years and was as tall as she now, his childish round freckled face now long, tanned, and very worried. At age 14, Carl had been through more than most _adults _before the Turn ever were. He knew that life was short and brutal and that you had to grab onto anything good and hold on tight before someone or something ripped it away from you.

"I know, but I have to Carl. I can help save her. You understand that, don't you?" Beth said gently. Carl moved into the room to stand within a foot of her. She turned to face him and he reached out his hand to take hers.

"I need to tell you..." he began, and she saw a flush of color stain his cheeks and he looked at their hands instead of at her face, his too long shaggy bangs covering his eyes. "...you're a _good _fighter. It's not that I don't think you can take care of yourself..." he said, his voice trailing off. His chin fell down against his throat and he sighed.

"Carl?" Beth asked, "You know I'll be care-"

_"I love you is all."_ He said quickly; blurting it over what she'd been trying to say to reassure him; quickly because he had to get the words out now or his courage would fail him. He'd seen the people around him waste time; lose their last chances to tell others how they felt. His parents' example was burned into his soul.

Beth felt the tears burn behind her eyes as she looked at him. She slowly reached out and took his chin in her hand and raised it so she could look into the eyes of one the bravest people she'd ever met; saw the fear, the expectation of hurt and rejection. She leaned in and put her lips on his in a chaste kiss and then hugged him close.

* * *

As the group assembled in front of the car to depart, Daryl took Carl and Davy aside.

"You think you could help Carl watch Gus for me?" Daryl asked Davy, very seriously, making it clear to the boy that this was an important request. He'd knew that he couldn't take the young pup along into danger and also knew the boys would be thrilled to watch him, making all of the other children jealous as hell in the bargain. Davy's eyes got big and he nodded solemnly, looking down at the puppy who sat at Daryl's side.

"Gotta make sure he has food and water, gets exercise and work with him so he doesn't go after walkers." They'd discovered that the little dog was death on walkers, charging them at the fence ferociously, his high pitched hysterical sounding barks drawing more geeks to the site. He knew they were _wrong,_ dead things moving, smelling wrong and it drove him into a frenzy if he got too close. This would make him a liability if he lived long enough to grow into adulthood so it was vital that he be taught to remain calm, to hunt and stalk silently. His own parents would've taught him this if they'd lived and it was a lesson he would have learned well or died from.

"Yes sir." Davy said and Carl nodded his assent as well.

"Aw right then." Daryl said, shaking both of their hands formally, but in a rush of emotion both boys embraced him at once, Carl hugging him and Davy latching onto his good leg, almost knocking him off balance as they bumped against his crutches.

"I'll watch out for Beth." Daryl said, knowing how the boy felt about Hershel's younger daughter.

"I know." Carl said quietly, and then added. _"Get Carol and kill that son of a bitch."_

"Be careful, Mr. Daryl." Davy said in his high little boy treble.

Daryl briefly patted each of them on the back and they released him. Daryl nodded at them and turned to go, Gus following after him. Carl called the pup and Daryl looked down at the dog.

"Go on now—_git_." he ordered, and Gus looked confused. Sighing, Daryl carefully balanced himself so he could reach down and pick up the puppy with one hand.

"You be good and mind Carl," he told the puppy as he held Gus up close and looked him in the eye. Gus licked his nose. First it was a little spitfire of a woman and now a damn dog had wormed its way onto his heart. Merle must be laughin' his ass off.

* * *

They' decided to take Hershel's red and white Chevy Suburban, Rick driving, Tyreese at shot gun, Beth, Miguel and Michonne in the back seat and Daryl and the gear in the back compartment. Stevens had echoed Felipe's concern about keeping the leg up and it really was the only way they could all fit into one vehicle. Additional gear had been stored on the roof rack, but the weapons and other vitals were inside. With Beth going, Sasha was staying at the prison, and she ran the gates along with Carl as Hershel stood beside Davy holding Gus.

Right before he got in the vehicle, Tyreese looked back towards the prison and blew a kiss toward a window high above the ground. He stared for a few more seconds and then slid into his seat and shut the door.

"They're through the outer gate.' Karen said. She was standing at the narrow window of the infirmary that looked out over the main courtyard watching the group leaving for Senoia. She'd been more than a little conflicted about their leaving and had decided to come check on Maggie and Glenn rather than see them off.

Sending so many of their strongest fighters off on one mission didn't seem like the best plan, but she'd understood that in addition to Daryl's determination to rescue Carol, Rick had thought that the opportunity to take out Blake was too good to pass up. As the sole survivor of the massacre of the Woodbury fighters, a slaughter in which her own son had died, she understood the madness of the former Governor better than anyone. There would be no bargaining, no reasoning with him when they found him. He would kill them all without hesitation unless they killed him first.

When she had first arrived at the prison she'd been shocked at how primitive the living conditions were there. She had gotten used to the luxuries of the little false world Blake had created for them all in Woodbury and the thought of sleeping in a cold damp prison cell that smelled of mold and the urine, shit and blood of the men who had died in the cells horrified her. She'd protested the living conditions that first night so vehemently that she had been assigned to the cleaning detail the next morning at breakfast by the officious older woman with the short grey hair, Carol, who had been tasked with organizing the new residents.

Her initially uptight attitude had earned Karen the nickname 'Princess' from Daryl Dixon, and at first she'd thought it was the handsome tracker's way of flirting with her, so she flirted right back for about the first week. She made sure she was around when she knew he'd be on watch or at meals she maneuvered herself into line near him or sat at his table, peppering him with questions. He was polite, but not encouraging, almost shy, which she found intriguing.

She'd decided to push him and had followed when he'd gotten back from a hunt, covered in sweat, blood and dirt and headed to the outdoor showers, a curtained off space that Glenn had rigged up against the brick back wall near the cistern. Concealing herself around the corner she watched as he stripped down, admiring the sleek lines of his muscular arms and broad shoulders, but then was shocked when she saw the scars on his torso, making her hesitate in her plan to boldly step out and find out if he was interested in getting to know her with fewer clothes on.

She knew from experience that the water in the showers was cold and didn't have to wait long to watch him emerge, but instead of dressing and returning to one of the common areas or his cell, he pulled on the clean sleeveless t and faded jeans he'd brought with him, looked over his shoulder and then headed for the doorway to the Tombs. Did he know she was watching him? Was this a silent invitation?

Karen waited a minute or two and then followed; the sounds of his footfalls ahead unmistakable even in the half light. She heard one of the doors to solitary creak open- she'd been here before on work detail carrying potatoes down into the cool storage. Curious, she moved closer and then she heard the unmistakable rhythmic sound of flesh on flesh and blushed at what she realized he was doing. She listened, her heart speeding up as she heard his whimpering breaths and gasps and moved closer, toying with the idea of pulling open the door and offering him some help when he muttered a name and then groaned in completion.

It hadn't been _her_ name.

She'd fled quickly, embarrassed, and had ended up in the outdoor dining area and kitchen. She put her hands to her cheeks to try to cool them as she sank down onto one of the picnic table benches. She heard humming then and saw that Carol was chatting with a couple of the older women as they worked on preparing the rabbits that Daryl had brought back, skinning, quartering and seasoning them in preparation for roasting over the already hot coals under the spit.

Carol? Dixon had a thing for _Carol_? Karen shook her head. That was the name he'd cried out as he pleasured himself... Trying to understand, she made herself study the busy little woman more closely. She looked beyond the grey hair which gave the impression of greater age than did her body, which was trim and firm. Karen grudgingly admitted to herself that Carol had as good an ass as she, and though her breasts were smaller, they still seemed damned perky for her age. She studied next the woman's face, fairly free of wrinkles except for light laugh lines around what was probably her best feature, her very large blue eyes. Ok, so she was pretty in an understated sort of way, but why was Daryl pining over her? She'd seen no sign of any sort of romantic attachment between her and him—none with anyone else for that matter. What was their deal anyway?

At dinner that night she sat with Maggie and Beth and found out that was the same question the original prison inhabitants had been asking themselves for months. Keeping their voices down, they talked and surreptitiously watched as Carol stood at the big stew pot dishing out servings of the rich thick brothed soup she had made from the herb roasted rabbits, potatoes and carrots, laughing and talking with Tyreese, who worked alongside her handing out fresh baked. Daryl looked on, frowning, from the table where he sat with Carl, Hershel and Rick, who was holding Judith on his lap. There was an empty seat beside Daryl and clearly he was saving it for someone, because he turned several people away when they attempted to sit there.

When the line for food tapered off, Daryl had finally had enough and had strided up to the serving area, said something to Tyreese, taken the ladle away from Carol and filled a bowl and handed it to her and pointed her towards his table. She'd raised an eye brow at the bowman and held out a hand to Tyreese, making Daryl scowl, but then Tyreese merely placed a piece of bread across her palm and then she'd smiled and headed for the seat Daryl had saved her. Daryl stood there for a few seconds as he watched her go, clearly fascinated by the soft sway of her behind, before he blinked, looked around to see if anyone had noticed and then followed her to the table.

"It's like a little play." Maggie mused thoughtfully, taking a bite of her bread. Watching Carol and Daryl was one of her favorite hobbies.

"You can tell he adores her, but is too shy to make a move." Beth said sweetly, sighing.

"And she _likes_ him?" Karen said, looking at Tyreese, who was also watching Carol's departure with interest.

"No." Beth said, meeting her eyes then. Karen frowned. "She _loves _him," the girl said very seriously, and then her tone got downright menacing, "And we love _her_—so _don't even _think you can come between them."

Karen sputtered—the little blonde kewpie doll had just verbally bitch slapped her! She looked over at Maggie who merely raised an eyebrow, nonverbally reinforcing her sister's advice.

"Hey women, any news on the longest foreplay in history?" Glenn said jovially as he sat down beside his fiancé, pecking her on the cheek. "I saw the little claiming match there as I was waiting in line." He ripped his bread in half and dunked it in the stew. "Tyreese better cool it or Daryl's gonna blow a gasket one a these days." He stuffed the soaked bread in his mouth and chewed, making a delighted face as he swallowed. "I'd go after her myself just for her cooking if I didn't think Daryl would turn me into a walking pin cushion." Maggie playfully swatted his shoulder and they all smiled. Karen looked over at Tyreese who was serving soup to the stragglers and wondered what it was about Carol that had these two _fine_ men so interested in her when there were so many other options.

After that Karen made it her business to get to know Carol and in the process began to realize just how much work it took to keep this place running. They spent time working in the gardens, cooking, doing laundry, working their shifts at the fence taking out walkers and in the process they talked. Each of them had lost a child, and that proved to be a bonding place for them. After a few weeks Karen was surprised to find that she counted Carol as a good friend, and finally understood why the people around her cared for her so deeply. She was their center, their constant.

One topic they never discussed was any hint of a romantic interest in Daryl. His name came up of course, he was an integral part of her past since Atlanta, but Karen realized that Carol couldn't admit her true feelings for him because to do so would be to give in to the pain that unrequited love usually brought with it. Karen marveled that Carol didn't seem to realize that Daryl felt exactly the same way.

A few weeks later Daryl had gone off on Tyreese, beating him bloody, necessitating a cooling off period between the men. Rick had sent Tyreese on the mission originally scheduled to be Michonne, Karen, Sasha and her boyfriend. Karen had ended up taking care of Tyreese's injuries after Sasha had laid into him for being stupid. Karen and Tyreese had found themselves growing closer, until the night before they returned, _last_ night, while on watch they'd finally kissed. As a relationship, it was in its infancy, but that didn't mean she wasn't worried as hell about him going off on this crazy ass mission. She was glad that Carol and Daryl seemed to have finally figured out the truth that everyone else had known all along, but hoped that didn't mean she'd lose the person who might be the one _she_ was meant to be with.

Karen looked back over at Glenn and Maggie. The young woman had snuck onto Glenn's bunk and lay curled against him, careful of his incision and IV. They both clearly needed the comfort of each other's arms. Losing a child was something she understood, even though for them it was more the potential that the baby had represented...a new life that now just wouldn't _be_. She quietly left the room, hoping that she'd have the chance to see where _her_ new life could go with Tyreese.

* * *

_**I wanted to explore that calm before the storm mood a bit more and also show that Carol and Daryl's relationship rippled out and affected other people in interesting ways. I'm really interested to see what they do on TWD with the character of Karen since what we saw of her in Woodbury showed that until they wanted to turn her poor son into a child soldier she seemed to have drunk the Governor's Kool-Aid (or should I say Milton's tea?). Having her survive the massacre must mean they have big plans for her in S4...and I know many fear her potential for being a Caryl spoiler, so I tweaked that a little in this chapter by having her go after Daryl but then putting her with the other rumored "spoiler" Tyreese : )**_

_**The Thing with Two Heads**__** is a real (and really bad) film. Google image search and giggle.**_

"_**I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." is of course the final line of **__**Casablanca.**_

**And yes, the title of this chapter is a **_**BTVS**_** reference—Beth sort of reminded me of a potential Slayer here.**


	30. Chapter 30: Appearances

_30. Appearances_

"We send the Valkyries." Blake said. They had been trying to estimate the size of the herd, but it seemed without end, moving to fill the streets of the southern half of the town. They were still on the south side now, the things pressing against the outer barricades, pulling, ripping, and battering at the walls relentlessly. Only stone or perhaps thick concrete could withstand the weight and force of so many bodies writhing against it indefinitely.

"The women?" Martinez asked, lowering the binoculars from his eyes and looking over at Blake.

"This is what they've been training for." Blake said with satisfaction. Martinez frowned. He thought they trained to fight and die for the amusement of the sick bastard who ran this place, but whatever.

"How many do we send?" he asked, thinking of the thirty or so women who were at various stages in their training.

"All of them." Blake smiled, "We can always get more." Martinez looked shocked.

_"All?" _

"Oh—yes, I see—not your Rose of course, or any of the other men's present consorts. Need to keep everyone happy and deep in pussy, don't we?" he laughed, "just don't let yourself get too attached, son." he warned. "Sooner or later they must _all_ come to the arena to be tested..."

Martinez inwardly cringed as he thought of gentle Carol facing down one of the well trained Valkyrie, fighting for her life in a losing battle in which he would not be allowed to interfere. He knew he had to keep up the pretence of total and unwavering loyalty to the man in front of him, but it was becoming more mask than reality with every passing minute.

* * *

Carol sat in the chair in the hallway and wiped the blood off of her face with the damp towel that Dr. West had given her now that there was a lull in the flow of casualties. The spurting artery had caught her off guard when she'd removed the field dressing that someone had applied to the wound on the young woman's leg that had been accidentally inflicted by her own sword as she'd swung wildly to fend off attacking walkers. The warm coppery spray across her face had made Carol flash back to when she had first felt Phillip Blake's hand of evil most directly; as the head of the man next to her, the one she'd just been laughing with, exploded.

* * *

"So tell me about him."

"Who?"

"The man ya got on yer mind; the one makin' it so easy fer ya to resist my _bodacious _charms." Axel smirked over at Carol.

They were on watch together in the tower overlooking the main gate of the prison. The group that had gone to rescue Glenn and Maggie still hadn't returned and her worry over them..._him_...was making her antsy, nervous as a cat. She couldn't handle any more of Beth's soft lullabies to Judith, Carl's silent brooding watchfulness or Hershel's devastated melancholy. Carol had needed to get out and breathe the fresh air and had taken Axel with her, determined to keep him away from Beth so Carl wouldn't decide that it might be a good idea to shoot him.

She hadn't wanted Daryl to go, but there was no way to stop him so she'd put on her best face, clinging to Judith's soft warmth like a security blanket as she watched him help Oscar and Carl load the car with weapons and supplies. He passed her several times going back and forth between the car and the building interior, each time glancing up at her, checking on her.

It had been less than a day since he'd found her in the Tombs, half dead, dehydrated and weak. She probably shouldn't even be up and around, but there was no way he was leaving without her being there to say goodbye. That was what she'd kept thinking as she'd sat there in the Solitary cell for what they'd told her was two days and a night. It had been hard to keep track of the hours. A sliver of light came through the crack between the door frame and the door, but whatever was blocking it, keeping it from opening any further was also keeping any more light from getting in.

She'd had a lot of time to think about her life, the good and the bad. Sophia...Ed... T-Dog and Andrea dying for her, Daryl at the farm, riding to her rescue...how right it felt to cling behind him, pressing herself against his back, holding on as tight as she could, inhaling the sweaty leather scent of him, the imprint of the angel feathers on her cheek when she dared to press her face to the back of his vest.

She regretted so much in her life, but she didn't regret letting him into her heart. Even if she never acted on it, even if _he_ never could, she would never regret it. He had made her feel like a woman, when she'd all but given up on ever feeling like that again. She was a wife, and then she wasn't. She was a mother, and then that was gone too. In neither case had she gotten to say goodbye. The two most important people in her life, for evil and good were there and then they just weren't. She didn't want to do that to Daryl, to just be _gone._

She'd heard his voice, thought she was dreaming or hallucinating, bits and pieces of a story about his mother's death. He'd never gotten to say goodbye to her either...

So she'd come to stand in the doorway, watching him prepare to leave her. On his last trip out to the car he'd touched her arm and then stopped in front of her.

"Stay safe." he said quietly, looking at her holding the baby, a Madonna. She'd smiled at him and reminded him of a conversation they'd had weeks ago, her way of telling him she'd be fine until he found his way back to her.

"Nine lives, remember?" and he'd grinned and nodded. She'd watched him walk away, for all appearances calmly accepting his departure. Carol realized that she hadn't actually _said_ goodbye...and then she knew it was because she never wanted to.

* * *

"Where'd you go?" Axel asked her softly, his usually honking drawl subdued.

"What?" she said, blinking and looking over at him. He tilted his head at her.

"Does he know?" He asked her, and then admonished before she could reply, "And don't say 'who'—you ain't no owl."

"I don't know what you're talking about." she said evenly, using the scope on Dale's rifle to look out at a small build up of walkers on the fence.

"That redneck Robin Hood rides the Triumph 'at needs a tune up. I seen the way he looks atcha when he doesn't think you'll notice. Like a man 40 days in the desert looks at an elegant glass of cool ice blue water."

She had to hand it to the man, it was flattering metaphor. She lowered the gun and looked over at him.

"I think being locked up in that store room so long addled your brain." she said dryly, refusing to let him know she appreciated the compliment.

"You ain't sweet on him too?" Axel said, a hopeful note creeping into his voice.

"Daryl is my best friend." she said sincerely. Knowing that now, especially with Lori gone, he was the one she felt closest to in the group.

"That don't mean you can't make a new friend, now does it?" he asked, again with the hopeful. Carol suppressed a grin, knowing that she was literally the _only_ woman that Axel could make the moves on after she'd called him off Beth. For that matter, the same could be said of Daryl...would he look twice at her if someone new and young and pretty joined their little family?

"It's always nice to make a new friend." Carol said, smiling and looking over at him. She held out her hand. "Hi. I'm Carol, nice to meet you."

"Well now, the pleasure is all mine, Mizz Carol." Axel said, twirling the ends of his moustache up with his fingers before reaching out to take Carol's hand in both of his. She smiled at him.

A strange sound coming from the prison interior made them both turn their heads.

"Was that a woman's scream?" Carol asked, and Axel furrowed his brow at her. They heard it again,"Oh god, _Beth_!" and they both took off down the stairs.

* * *

It had been the walker bitten woman from Tyreese's group, Donna, who had been screaming, foreshadowing the dark days that followed. When Daryl hadn't returned with the group from Woodbury Rick had done his best to comfort her, but it was clear Carol was devastated.

When she'd been checking on Glenn later he'd bitterly recounted the conversation they'd had with Daryl on the road, trying to convince him to stay.

"And when I asked him what he wanted us to tell _you_, do you know what he said?" Glenn asked her. Carol checked the bruising on his ribs without replying.

"He said '_She'll understand.' _What kinda thing is that to say? How could he expect you to understand why he'd go off with Merle and leave the woman he—" Glenn cut himself off, and Carol's head came up, the hurt in her eyes making Glenn ashamed.

"You need to take it easy a few more days. I think Hershel's right." Carol said evenly. "Looks like at least one rib, maybe two are broken." she gently probed his side. He caught her hand in his.

"_Was_ Daryl right? Do you understand?" Glenn asked softly. Carol looked up at him, her eyes full of tears, and Glenn pulled her to him in a hug, wincing only slightly as she bumped his sore ribs. "I'm so sorry, Carol," he patted her back, "I fucking hate Merle Dixon."

Ironically her talk with Beth later that day had helped her put things in perspective. She knew men like Merle; she'd been married to one: selfish to the core, demanding the allegiance of those under their sway to the exclusion of all others. But Merle was Daryl's blood, she understood that too, _"know me know my brother"._..family loyalty was part of the Dixon training.

"Daryl has his code. This world needs men like that." Carol had told the girl. She'd also reassured Beth that they could survive without Daryl; they had other options, wondering if she'd meant the advice for her own _heart_ as well...

* * *

She'd spent more time with the gentlemanly convict in the ensuing days, had learned more about him, had smiled at his gentle flirting, and wondered if the reason all she felt was mild amusement in his presence was because it was too _easy_.

It had been a struggle to love Ed, just as it was to love Daryl, though for entirely different reasons. With her husband it had been her duty, her vows, and her daughter that kept her trying in her marriage, keeping up the outward show of a happy home despite the abuse. With Daryl it was like trying to coax an abused bait dog from the pit bull ring to trust that your outstretched hand didn't hold anything but a tasty biscuit. The more he growled and snapped the more patient she got, the more willing to devote the time to solving his mysteries, look deeper than the surface.

In contrast, Axel was an open book, simple, easy to read, uncomplicated all the way down to the relationship he had with his_ own_ ne'r do well brother. That had been the subject of their last conversation, after he'd told her he'd robbed a liquor store with a fake gun, that he was essentially a fake criminal and then called her 'quite a lady'.

"Don't you miss your brother?" Carol had asked him, perhaps wondering if he'd traipse off in search of him some day as well.

"My brother? Hell no, he had a real money problem." Axel had laughed.

"What kind of a problem?"

"He didn't lend me any!" and they'd both laughed at the joke, "One time that son of a bitch..." and then the warm splash of red covered her face, and his body sheltered hers from the sniper in the tower as she hit the deck, saving her life as surely as Daryl had when he'd carried her off the farm and out of the Tombs. Later when he'd angrily told Andrea that Blake had killed Axel, Daryl had said, _"We liked him, he was one of us."_ It had been his acknowledgement of that fact, his way of thanking the man for saving Carol when he hadn't been there to do it.

Martinez had also been there that day, firing at her and her family, helping Blake to terrorize them. She had to hold on to that fact when she was dealing with him. Not let his kind words and actions to her now lull her into a false sense of security. She was in hostile enemy territory. These were the same people who had killed Axel and so many others.

* * *

"You got that big ol' buck knife on you, Dixon?" Michonne asked as they stopped to take a break along the roadside. Beth had gone into the brush with a roll of toilet paper, with Miguel gallantly volunteering to go along as guard until all three other men and Michonne glared at him. Tyreese had discreetly followed her, watching for walkers, promising to turn his back at the proper moment.

Daryl handed over the knife and was floored when she pulled off her headband and started sawing off her dreads one at a time, letting them fall to the ground all around her. Coming out of the woods Beth and Tyreese stopped, in shock,

"Oh my god, Michonne! What the hell are you doing?" Tyreese exclaimed, but Beth nodded, understanding immediately.

"He's looking for her." Beth said.

"And the first thing they'll look for is that hair." Daryl nodded.

"Been thinkin' a changin' my look for awhile now." Michonne said evenly, but there was the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes as the hair continued to fall.

"How short you wanna go?" Miguel piped up, running his hand over his closely shaven head. "We got battery powered clippers at the clinic—just sayin'" That made Michonne smile fiercely and nod at the young vato.

"Sounds good." she said. "Finish it up there."

"I can get the ones in the back." Beth volunteered, pulling out her own short sharp knife, and Michonne nodded at her as well and between the two of them they made short work of the rest of the dreads. Unfolding the scarf that had been her headband, she wrapped it around what was left of her hair, turning it into a colorful turban, giving her an even more exotic look.

"Need to move out." Rick said from his watch post at the front of the car. A gaunt walker, which was covered in blood from some long past meal, had wandered too close to the car, and Rick efficiently popped it through the eye with his knife and kicked it back off the road. Several more came out of the brush on the opposite side of the road from where Beth and Ty had gone, attracted by the human activity. Rick climbed into the driver's seat without commenting on Michonne's change of hairstyle. Daryl pulled himself back off of the tailgate and into the rear compartment so Tyreese could slam it shut and everyone moved to the sides to jump back in, but Michonne had to use Daryl's knife to take out a large bald walker in what looked like green coveralls that lunged at her, careening over the hood of the car as she danced back out of the way.

"You in?" Rick yelled.

"Go!" Michonne said as more walkers poured out of the brush, and she slammed the door of the Blazer, guillotining the hand off the one reaching in for her.

"Gross." Beth said wrinkling up her lip as her eyes fell to the chopped part that landed at her feet, still twitching. She skewered it with her knife, pinning it to the floor. When they were clear of the small herd Michonne rolled down her window just enough so she could toss the thing out and then handed both Beth and Daryl's knives back to their respective owners.

Miguel was staring at both women with undisguised admiration. They not only looked hot, they were cool as cucumber bad asses to boot. With a big grin plastered on his face he looked back at Daryl who was using a faded red rag to clean his big sharp knife. Daryl gave him a squinty stare and dropped the rag so he could raise his hand to point an index finger at the youth and then added his middle finger and pointed back to his own eyes, the gesture clearly saying _"I got my eye on you..."_ Then he pulled a pair of deep black Ray Bans out of his jacket pocket and slid them on his face, his appearance leaving no doubt in Miguel's mind as to who the_ head_ bad ass was.

* * *

_**I was slow to warm to Axel on the show, but in retrospect I thought he added some much need comic relief for a time. Part of the problem I think was that I also read the comics, and in them one of the convicts is a serial killer who takes out some family members, so I was afraid that Axel was that character. Then I started to worry because he was stepping on my Caryl feels, but he redeemed himself by the way he inadvertently saved Carol's life. I imagined that Carol would remember him fondly and also recall that it was Blake who killed him with Martinez along for the ride.**_

_**Another scene alluded to by Hershel, Beth & Carl's conversation, but never shown was what exactly Axel and Carol were doing on watch together in the tower when Tyreese and his group arrived. Daryl had gone off to Woodbury and Axel had just learned Carol is not a lesbian, so this was my take on their conversation that night.**_

_**I have always felt sorry for Danai Gurira with that heavy wig in the Georgia heat and think she is also beautiful with her short hair style in real life, so this was a good & fitting excuse for Michonne to lose the dread locks.**_

_**On to Senoia and developing a strategy to go after Carol!**_


	31. Chapter 31: Revelations

_**AN:**__** Thank you to all followers & favorites new and old for bearing with me waiting on an update; this one's a little longer for you (and there's even a teeny bit of smut). Thanks also for all the wonderful reviews! They keep me going!**_

_**Some interesting things come out in the conversations in which our heroes engage **_

* * *

_31. Revelations _

"So when did you know...?" Tyreese asked, as he waited for Daryl to finish using the whetstone to sharpen his buck knife so he could have his turn with it. The merged groups had mapped out the strategy for their plan to coordinate the infiltration of Blake's compound and now the down time before it began was being used to ready weapons, grab a bite to eat and rest.

Michonne, Angel and Beth had finished off the katana master's hair and then sparred with their swords, entertaining Miguel until Felipe called him away to help with preparing med kits. Rick and G had gone to the clinic roof to check on the progress of the herd, which was still confined to the southern district of town, enabling them to come into Senoia from the north. Miguel had showed them a safer alternate route than the one where Daryl and Carol had been ambushed and they hadn't run across any raiders. G said that they seemed to have pulled back to defend the hotel complex where Blake was headquartered.

Having a herd to thank for a relatively easy arrival had made them all a bit uneasy, unsure if it was a portent of good fortune or foreshadowing of disaster ahead.

Daryl and Tyreese sat in the triangular courtyard between the three buildings, Daryl on the bench again with his leg outstretched and Tyreese reclining on the ground nearby with his back against the wooden wall of one of the raised garden beds, one leg bent up so he could rest his elbow on it.

Daryl remained focused on his task; he didn't want to talk about Carol with this man.

"...that you _loved _her." Tyreese finished the thought and Daryl grinded molar and flared his nostrils. Seemingly oblivious, Ty continued, "I mean, did she _do_ somethin'? _Say_ somethin' that made you just sit up and go, _whoa-there she is-she's the one I been waitin' for_..." or did it come on slow, like an ache in your gut whenever she was close, your mouth goin' dry whenever you tried to talk to her, always knowing when she came into the room because everything in it but _her_ went all dim and grey..."

Daryl paused, his hands going still. _What the hell?_ He glared over at Tyreese who had a far way unfocused look in his eyes.

"Wasn't getting the shit beat out of you once _enough_?" Daryl said in a tone half way between menacing and incredulous, holding the very large and now even sharper knife up by the handle in his right hand as if he was considering his aim.

Tyreese blinked and wrinkled his forehead up and then looked up at Daryl, noticed the knife and started laughing in big hearty guffaws.

"I ain't tryin' to mack on your woman, Dixon!" he boomed, slapping his bent leg with merriment. Daryl squinted at him assessingly, "Though I do admit the subtle and mysterious nature of your wooing of the lovely widow made it _damn_ near impossible for me to know I _was_ fishin' in another man's pond..." he smirked.

Daryl rolled his eyes and went back to his knife sharpening.

"I mean seriously man, more people who didn't know any better thought I had something goin' on with _Sasha_ than would've put you and Carol together." He snorted, laughing at those who didn't realize that Sash and he were siblings. They should've known by the way she was always taking the piss out of him and bossin' him around all the time.

"Well, we're together _now_." Daryl said tersely. He thought of the ring in his pocket, brought his elbow in close to his side so he could feel the edges of it through his vest. Soon. He'd be able to put it on her finger, see the look on her face when he explained where he'd gotten it.

"So I hear. I'm happy for you, really." Tyreese said sincerely, "but my question still stands. When did you _know?_"

"There a particular _reason_ you wanna be diggin' into my personal business, hoss?" Daryl asked, uncomfortable with revealing the intimate details of his feelings about much of anything with anybody, let alone the complex story of his relationship with Carol to this man...

"I kissed Karen." Tyreese said, and once again Daryl paused his sharpening.

"Write it in yer diary, brother; I don't really give a shit." Daryl muttered. Weren't none of his business. Then he thought about it for a minute. Might be a good thing...keep Ty's mind off Carol...and the Princess off _his_ case. She'd really been getting to be a pain in the ass for awhile there, trailing after him, acting like anything he said at meals was just so damn interesting, asking if she could try his crossbow-like he ever let _anyone_ touch his bow. He'd used his standard line, _"Yer arm ain't long enough,"_ to deny her, but the hungry knowing look she'd given him, her eyes traveling up and down _his_ bared arms, made him feel like walker bait... It had pushed him to go put on his leather sleeved jacket, clad in the armor Carol had made for him, now acting as protection against another woman's acquisitive gaze.

"Yeah well, I was just going to thank you for beatin' the crap outa me; she took care of me, Karen did...after. We talked and found some common ground...nothing serious yet...but who knows..." he said wistfully. "Maybe in two or three years if we're still both alive we'll end up like you and Carol." He said the last with a definite snark at the glacial pace of the tracker's love life, making Daryl grunt out a reluctant laugh and Tyreese joined in.

"Brought her a flower," Daryl said when the laughter died down, surprising himself at the admission. Tyreese looked up expectantly. "Cherokee Rose... her little girl was missin' and I saw it when I was out lookin' for her..." It was an unusual moment of shared self-reflection for Daryl. He'd never discussed his actions that day with anyone else-didn't know if Carol had ever told anyone from where the flower in the RV had come-but it had changed something between them. He'd let her see beneath the tough uncaring exterior he'd had to cultivate to survive his brutal childhood and she'd been touched by his thoughtfulness, his kind act, and had told him so later. It was probably the most romantic thing he had ever done for anyone in his life up to that point...

"_Sophia_... Ty said, nodding in understanding. "Karen said Carol's been real kind about her son, Noah." At that Daryl nodded. He hadn't known that about Karen until later. That it had been her son's dead body which had protected her from the Governor's sweep finishing off his people. "And the flower-that's when you knew?"

Daryl pursed his lips as he considered the question. He supposed that's when he'd started to let her in-but love? He'd fought that every step of the way. Resisted admitting to himself how important she'd become to him until one day he'd turned around and she was gone. He shook his head at the memory, trying to resist the pull of the fear that this time he wouldn't be lucky enough to find her in time; that this time she'd have no place to hide from the evil that was trying to tear them apart.

"It was when she died-when we_ thought_ she'd died-in an attack on the prison by one of the convicts Rick had thrown out. The same one when T and Lori died. She was lost for two days. Even dug a grave fer her. Took her a flower then too." The same kind, a Cherokee Rose that he'd found on his run with Maggie for Judith's formula. But _this_ time he wouldn't. Before they'd left today he'd gone to his room and pulled out the wooden box he kept under his bed, taken out the white rose he'd carved for her and burned it. It had seemed to him an ill omen to have it waiting there, ready for another ending, another loss.

"But you found her." Tyreese said, smiling slightly. He'd heard this story from Karen while they'd been on their run this past week as well, who'd gotten it from Beth, the girl sighing at the romantic sight of Daryl carrying a weak but still alive Carol into the cell block, laying her gently on the bunk and carefully holding the water up to her parched lips as he supported her back with his arm, urging her to drink.

"I got her back...weren't easy ridin' after that, but I got her back," Daryl admitted. His going off with Merle, the Governor's attacks on the prison, the arrival of the Woodbury people, all had been trials, but they'd made it through, whatever powers that be had let them both live long enough to find each other. He looked over at Tyreese who was slowly nodding in agreement.

"And we'll get her back this time too." Tyreese said with assurance, holding Daryl's gaze. "I'm a sucker for a happy ending..."and his big grin was met by a soft snort, the barest twitch up of the left corner Daryl's mouth and a single bob of his head before the hunter resumed honing his blade.

* * *

"You sure about this plan, Rick?" G asked the serious man standing next to him holding the binoculars to his eyes, surveying the streets below for signs of movement. Rick lowered the glasses.

"Are _you_?" Rick returned, knowing that this man's part was vital to getting Beth into the compound. G would resume his guise as a procurer of women, caught in town by the herd, looking for shelter at Blake's place with his latest valuable acquisition in tow. Hopefully they would be able to make contact with Carol and quietly get her free, either by offering goods in trade or tempting him with Beth, getting her close enough to take him out, possibly by enlisting the other captive women's help. The rest of them would wait until a time certain for the plan to work, but then if G and the women weren't out, they would come in, ready for a fight.

"It's risky-we don't know how many men he has-where the women's loyalties lie..."

"Stockholm syndrome?" Rick asked, knowing that sometimes captives came to sympathize with those who held them.

"Angel said some of the women were under the protection of members of his elite, had it better than the rest. They might not be so willing to see that end." G told him.

"I don't see any other option...we have to hope he'll be distracted enough by dealing with the walkers that he'll let his guard down a bit. Our priority has to be getting you and Beth in and then back out cleanly, _with _Carol."

"I won't want to have to face Dixon if I don't bring his _esposa_ back." G agreed and then smirked. "Those two newlyweds by any chance?" he asked, his cheek dimpled, squinting at Rick.

"Why do you ask?" Curious, Rick squinted back.

"Dudes _all_ banged up; bit by a hell hound, got a god damn _busted_ leg and they _still _went at it in my shower room." G said in awe, unwittingly disclosing more about the true nature of the couple's relationship than he knew. "Made me _blush_, ese_..." _he said, holding his hand to his chest and shaking his head.

Rick's eyebrows went so high they threatened to touch his hairline and his jaw went slack as his brain tried to process what the other man was telling him. Slowly his mouth formed a grin and he nodded.

"Yeah." He said_, "That's_ new."

* * *

"You're beautiful." Rick said, shocked, as he saw Michonne. She'd always seemed almost feral, glowering with the curtain of dreads falling over her face, obscuring dark coffee skin in shadow. When she added the hooded cape she was mysterious, like some dark avenger ready to slice and dice evil-doers into submission. Rick wasn't blind; he'd noticed her fit body in the tight tailored clothes she seemed to prefer, but his eyes and hands remembered Lori's long slender form as his standard of beauty. Michonne was more rounded; the curve of her sassy hips into narrow waist and out again to full breasts something entirely different. She'd shorn her hair within a half inch of her scalp and held her head high on her long swanning neck. Her features were revealed as being more delicate than he'd previously thought, with lush lips and dark eyes tilting slightly up at the corners sparking with intelligence, now regarding him with mild curiosity.

"_Si_-I like it, _hermosa_." G concurred, coming into the room behind Rick.

"You sayin' I looked like shit before?" she groused mildly, raising an eyebrow at them.

"Trust me. You're never gone win that one." Angel smirked at the men. Tyreese and Daryl, using his crutches, came into the room then and stopped short when they saw the warrior woman's new look.

"Be still my heart." Tyreese said, putting his right hand over the organ in question. Michonne scowled at him.

"Looks cool." Daryl said thoughtfully and everyone looked at him curiously. It really wasn't like him to comment on a woman's appearance. Michonne raised an eyebrow. "Fuckin' 110 in the shade out there in the summer—thinking maybe I'll do the same thing, weather gets hot again..." he mused. Then he thought about how much Carol had seemed to like his long hair, how she'd used it to hold his face to her when he'd...and he felt his cheeks flush at the memory and cleared his throat, looking down at the floor.

"Feels lighter, that's for sure." Michonne said evenly, taking pity on Daryl who suddenly looked like he wanted to crawl under a table. She ran her hands over her scalp.

"And now walkers can't grab it." Beth said, practically, remembering an incident when getting off her horse Flame in the barricade gate had turned dangerous because Carl hadn't closed the intake door quickly enough. Two walkers had latched on to Michonne's clothes and hair, keeping her from grabbing the katana at her back and Maggie had to sweep in at the last minute to rescue her.

"This is true," Michonne agreed and now it was Beth's turn to look thoughtful and raise her hand to her shoulder length blonde curls which she had pulled back into two low slung pigtails.

"_Lo siento, Rubia."_ G said, (Sorry Blondie) "but you need that crowning glory intact for this plan to work best. And we need to find you some other clothes..." Beth was wearing a short sleeved 'Hello Kitty' t-shirt over faded jeans tucked into calf high strapped boots, looking much younger than her age. The thigh holster for her pistol, the knife in its sheath at her waist and the katana slung over her back were incongruous, making her seem a little girl playing at _Tomb Raider_.

"Let's go look at the stuff in the store room—I think I know what G means." Angel said to Beth.

* * *

_"Hey sweetheart."_

"Hmmn?"

_"Carol? Honey?"_ Daryl's voice was gentle and close to her ear. She lay on her left side, as did he, and felt his arms go around her from behind, felt him pull her back towards him, his body warm and comforting against hers. He nuzzled the side of her neck, the soft bristles on his chin making her shiver slightly.

"Tickles..." she murmured.

_"You doin' ok?"_ he asked and then kissed her neck.

"Mmm hmmn..." she sighed, half asleep, and felt his lightly furred strong thigh move between her legs, opening her for him. His left arm encircled her waist, holding her against him while his right hand skimmed down her side to her hip and then to the apex of her thighs. She moaned as he pushed one finger inside, lazily circling her quickly hardening bud as he continued to explore her with his mouth, the ear lobe first, catching it between his teeth for a tiny nip, then moving to her neck, sweeping his wet hot tongue out tasting the sweet flesh with long slow licks. She felt his erection bump against her butt then and his hand left her core and quickly grasped her right thigh and lifted it up and back over his. His hand moved back and worked her into a writhing pre-orgasmic hot mess of need, wet and whimpering.

_"Ready darlin'?"_ he asked, his voice on the edge of losing control. She bucked her ass back against him and reached back to find his hip, the corded muscles of his ass tensed and trembling, waiting for her assent.

"Always ready...for _you_...don't stop—more—_Daryl..."_ she begged, and he pushed forward, filling her, making her cry out at how impossibly perfect it felt to have him inside her, a part of her.

_"Love you...so much...I'm always with you...just hold on, baby...I'm on my way..."_ he promised, but she felt his body retreat, pull away from her.

"Daryl—no—don't go! _Daryl?"_ Carol cried out, lost.

"Uh...you ok lady?" a young female voice asked softly, and a hand touched her shoulder. Carol struggled against the unknown touch—_he_ was just here—and she said his name again. The hand shook her shoulder harder. "Shhh—_don't_—they don't like it when you say your man's name!" she hissed. "Wake up now, you're dreamin'."

Carol opened her eyes and saw the young woman she had treated yesterday kneeling next to her. The girl was staring at her, looking concerned. Carol frowned and blinked, trying to get her bearings.

"You passed out—the doctor carried you in and put you on that bed—he said you hadn't slept in a couple of days and you were plumb worn out." As she finished speaking, her wrinkled brow gave way to a vague look, as if she'd lost focus on the woman in front of her.

"When?" Carol asked, sitting up. She was still wearing the scrubs she'd donned after coming into the infirmary, the blues now stained with patches of bloody russet. The last thing she remembered she'd been working on a man who'd fallen backwards off the barricades. He had a dislocated shoulder and broken arm, but had been lucky enough to have fallen back into the compound and not out into the sea of walkers.

The young woman's attention was on the floor, where a cockroach was sitting, regarding them both, its long bristles of antennae waving to and fro. Carol swung her legs over the side of the bed, her first instinct to crush the bug under her shoe, but the girl was so intent on it that she hesitated, wondering if it was a pet of sorts... her movements sent the thing scurrying away and Carol suppressed a shudder of revulsion as it crawled up the wall and into a crack near the ceiling. Its departure seemed to snap the girl out of her fugue and she looked back up at Carol.

"You've been here about six hours I think." the girl said, responding to her question, her voice sounding very young, reedy and thin. "You were talkin' in your sleep—said _Daryl_—that your man?" she asked wistfully. "You sounded so happy I hated to wake you...but then you were so sad..."

_Shit!_ Carol thought. Had anyone else heard her invoke Daryl's name?

"I'm Rose. What's _your_ name?" she said, trying to distract the girl.

"Nell...I mean...that's my real name. The Allfather calls me Aud."

"Odd?" Carol frowned, that seemed cruel.

"No—_Aud_, a-u-d. Like in _Aud_rey Hepburn, the old time movie actress? It's an Old Norse name that means 'wealth'. He's kinda nuts." She said in what was the understatement of the decade, her voice matter of factly dreamy.

"How are you doing, Nell?" Carol asked her, wondering how well she was processing what had happened to her the day before. She knew from experience that the physical effects of such abuse were only the tip of the iceberg.

"You're the nurse. You helped me." She said, cocking her head in recognition, birdlike, to look at Carol more closely.

"I did," Carol said, nodding, glad to see some of the vagueness lift from the girl's eyes.

"Ok. You're nice." She took Carol's hand in hers. "I won't kill you when I kill everyone else then." Nell/Aud said pleasantly, laughing merrily. Carol blinked.

_"_I'm sorry...What did you just say? _When you...?"_

"When I kill them all." The young woman said fiercely. "When I bring _Ragnarok."_

* * *

_**Ragnarok is the Norse version of Armageddon, in part a battle between the gods and giants, in which the dead are loosed from Hel and almost everything is destroyed including most gods, (such as Odin, who is swallowed by the wolf Fenrir) giants, dwarves, elves, humans, animals, and even the sun, moon and stars. So Nell has big plans.**_

_**And of course the title of this chapter refers to the new information shared, but also to the final book of the New Testament, "The Revelation To John," which details the Christian Apocalypse, including this familiar sounding story about two dead prophets: **__"For three days and a half men from the peoples and tribes and tongues and nations gaze at the dead bodies and refuse to let them be placed in a tomb...But after the three and a half days a breath of life from God entered them, and they stood up on their feet, and a great fear fell upon those who saw them." Rev. 11:9 &11_

_**Note:**__** The end of the last chapter when Miguel was impressed by Beth and Michonne's cool handling of the walker's guillotined hand it was a call back to Daryl throwing Merle's hand at him in Atlanta. As you may remember, the young vato almost wet himself scrambling to get away...**_


	32. Chapter 32: The Twilight of the Gods

_**The plan is in motion; Daryl and company arrive at Blake's compound where earlier Carol and Martinez ran into some difficulties after G and Beth are allowed in.**_

* * *

_32. The Twilight of the Gods_

"How are they doing?" the man now calling himself Valtamr asked the two men standing in front of him.

"It ain't pretty." Martinez said, wiping the sweat and blood off of his face with the sleeve of his flannel shirt. "We lost four in the first sortie—got overwhelmed—there's just so fuckin' many of them." He looked exhausted, drained of his usual cocky spark. It had been painful watching the women he'd help train fall, torn apart by faster moving biters than he'd even seen. The Valkyrie had stood their ground when the raiders—all basically mercenary men—had fled back behind the barricades. He'd blamed their leader, Morton, the tall bald tattooed African American man who had found Carol.

"I think we should consider pulling up stakes here, my Lord." Sawyer said persuasively. "I fear Niflheim has been breached—the halls of Hel opened—these dead will overwhelm us."

The self-styled god looked out over the streets to the north, still relatively thin numbers of the dead there; if they were going to leave this place it needed to be soon...

"You think Loki has returned?" Blake asked. According to prophecy the end times were upon the world when the dead walked and Loki and his son, the wolf Fenrir would return to destroy Odin.

"What's that?" Martinez asked, raising the binoculars to his eyes. A vehicle, what looked like a small Humvee, was making its way towards the hotel, its red parking lights flashing at odd intervals.

"Morse code." Sawyer said. He was ex-Military, National guard, as were a half dozen of the men. The other two men looked at him expectantly.

"And?" Blake asked.

"We got visitors." Sawyer replied.

* * *

"We got a break in the action." Martinez said, standing atop the barricade on the north side of the compound, where he had brought Carol and two guards. "So the boss says we can let this guy in. Was here a few months ago for...business..." Carol's head went up at that and she looked at him questioningly. Martinez's eyes slid away guiltily. The slave trade sickened him.

"Need you to run a quick health check before we let him and anyone with him into the interior, got it?" he asked her, looking out at the car idling on the other side of the barrier gate. Carol nodded. Martinez signaled the gatekeeper and the watchmen, who took out several walkers who ventured too close to the gate. The Humvee rolled in and came to a stop, the gate closing behind them. The two occupants of the vehicle got out, their hands raised to show they had no weapons, and Carol's hands went numb...

"Guillermo! Buenas dias, hombre—que pasa?" Martinez yelled down. _(Hello, man—what's up?)_

"Basta pendejo—dime una cerveza!" G returned. _(Shut up asshole and gimme a beer.)_

"Y su chica linda?" Martinez asked_, (And the hot girl?)_ eyeing the young blonde who had come out of the passenger side door. Her hands were bound with zip tie bands and she wore a black t-shirt with a white skull and cross bones over a short red plaid skirt, and low black lace up boots with white knee socks. Her hair was loose and curled into ringlets. She looked like every pervert's naughty school girl wet dream.

Carol's stomach was tied up in knots—what was _Beth_ doing here? With G? Did that mean Daryl was somewhere nearby as well? This had to be a plan to get her out of here. She carefully let her eyes rise to meet Beth's, but the girl worked hard to show no recognition.

"Martinez!" came a voice from the walkie on Martinez's belt, "We got an incursion in sector 23! Biters! Need a medic ASAP!"

"Damn it!" Martinez said, "C'mon—you're all we got out here." and he took a hold of Carol's arm, calling back, "Lo siento, G!" _(Sorry, G!)_ And they moved swiftly along the top of the wall to the west, leaving the two guards behind to stand watch over the new arrivals.

* * *

_**Three hours later**_

Covered in walker innards, Daryl held his crossbow aimed at the head of the young katana wielding Asian woman in front of him.

"Join us or die," bellowed the gore covered giant looming over her.

_Holy shit! It really was Ragnarok! _She thought to herself.

"I really would do as he says, Miss—his woman is inside there and we're not stoppin' until he finds her." said Tyreese, startling the girl, who at first hadn't realized that the first man was atop the second's back.

"She's inside?" the girl asked, slicing off the top of the head of a walker who skirted around Tyreese and Daryl to get to her. "What the hell's up with that?" she yelled, looking confused as the sea of walkers parted round the two men.

"Guts—smear 'em on they can't smell you." Daryl said tersely. She looked at him incredulously, taking a step closer so she could take a whiff and then shook her head in wonder. Using them as shelter, she stepped back to the corpse she'd just slain and she cut it stem to stern and then sheathed her sword so she could grab handfuls of the black gooey stuff and started spreading it all over herself.

"Tara! Elise! Use the biters—camouflage!" The two nearest fighters looked over at her, their eyes widening when they saw what she was doing, then looked back at each other, shrugged their shoulders and fought their way to her side. One after another, and with an assist from Daryl and Tyreese, they held off the walkers closest to then long enough for the other two women to scoop out the same sludge from another undead thing and add to the ranks of those protected.

All across the battlefield the rest of the group, Rick, Michonne, Felipe and Angel were doing the same, confronting the fighters spread out across the front of the south barricade. Miguel was guarding the vehicles, which they had concealed in a secure garage three blocks away. All of the rescuers were covered in a thick coating of walker camo, over the rain and trench coats which had sleeves reinforced with layers of duct tape, and sweatpants with the same.

"We're looking for a woman—small, short grey hair, big blue eyes—" Daryl said, his voice quiet and intense, trying not to draw the attention of the walkers. A shot rang out and he felt the bullet pass close to his right arm—he looked to the top of the barricade where a man with a rifle was taking aim again. Daryl loosed a bolt and the man screamed and fell forward into the mass of walkers, where he continued to scream for a minute until the last scream was cut off abruptly. Daryl reset his bow and grabbed another arrow from his quiver.

"That was _awesome!_" the Asian girl said softly, grinning wolfishly.

"Need to move—take out the rest a'them." Daryl told Ty, "Get someone up and over to open the gates." That was the second part of the plan. Get inside and loose the walkers on the rest of the Blake's minions while they found Carol, G and Beth, who were overdue to report or rendezvous with the rest of the group.

"You can't!" said one of the other young women, Tara, a red head who had joined the first, looking frightened.

"You either help us or get the hell outa the way, miss." Tyreese rumbled, brandishing his hammer.

_"Thor..."_ the Titian haired girl said wonderingly.

"No—you don't understand—it's too late—it's going to_ go_—anyone who's still inside has had it!" the Asian girl said heatedly, pointing back at the gates.

"It's Nell—her plan—she..." the red head said, exchanging a look with the other two.

"They came to help—_tell_ them." the third woman, Elise, a slightly older and African American, nodded.

"Nell's dad was a plumber—she knows about stuff—boilers—and furnaces—how they work." the Asian girl told them.

Daryl started to get a sick feeling in his gut.

"She rigged it—it's going to blow—take the whole building down. We're not out here defending this mad house—we're just trying to get as far away as we can before it goes!" the red head finished.

"How long?" Daryl yelled, "How long until it blows?" The women looked at each other again.

"Nell said it could take a couple of hours..." the Asian woman said. "...that was about an hour ago." Rick, Felipe and Michonne joined them, with five other katana wielding, walker goo covered women in tow.

"Katrina!" the older woman said, running to hug a tall blonde. Smiling, the newcomer held up a large key that she pulled from underneath her jacket.

"We need to get Mel and Sawyer, Jen," she said to the Asian woman "We can't leave them in there—and the nurse—the new one, Rose—they're good people." Katrina said.

"But Nell said once we're out don't come back—" the woman called Jen protested.

"Nell _wanted_ us to get them out if we could. I saw her when I helped take Hawkins to the infirmary this morning after he fell." Katrina looked at Michonne. "These people have others in there as well."

"New nurse?" Daryl asked the woman called Katrina.

"Rose—she helped Nell—"

"What does she look like? Short gray hair, blue eyes?" Daryl asked and the woman nodded. Jen touched Katrina's arm and gave her a warning look. "What?" The women looked down at the ground, and Daryl's voice became anxious, angry, "_Is she ok?_ Did that son of a bitch—"

"Not the Allfather...it was Martinez...he claimed her..." Jen said. "Mel was there working on the mural in the Hall and saw."

"He _claimed_ her? What the fuck does that mean?" Daryl ground out, his expression equal parts fear and fury. The women's bleak expressions were their only answer as his gaze swept around the gathered group. Finally Angel came forward and stood in front of him and Tyreese.

"I'm sorry—but it's just what you think it means." she said, putting her hand on Daryl's knee, attempting to comfort him.

_"No!"_ Daryl yelled, attracting the attention of the closest walkers, who attacked. The women and the rest of the group waded in, Daryl reslinging his bow after one bolt and furiously using his knife in support of Tyreese's hammer, yelling '_No'_ again every time he punched the long blade through the head of a walker from above.

_"Daryl!"_ Rick whispered tersely, stalking to the men's side and putting his hand on Daryl's arm, "You need to calm down—_quiet_ down—you're just drawing more of them to us." Breathing hard, his face a mask of pain, Daryl looked down at his friend.

"I'm sorry, brother." Rick said sadly, but then he looked resolved. Taking a deep breath, then two more, Daryl finally nodded, ducking his head.

"She's _alive—_we need to get in there." Daryl said, looking at Rick again.

"There aren't very many of us left," Jen said uneasily. "And the men have automatic weapons."

"Use the walkers." Daryl said. "Open the gates and let them flood the place—fuckers'll be too busy savin' their own asses to worry about us."

"We are the Valkyrie—we choose and usher the dead to Valhalla." Katrina said stoutly, in what was a pat line she'd been forced to repeat every time she went into the arena. She raised an eyebrow at the rest of the women, sweeping her gaze across them. "It's fucking Ragnarok; the giants have returned, the Niflheim has been breached—the halls of Hel are opened, the dead walk and we know what that means, _don't _we?" The women all slowly smiled and raised their swords in salute.

"_What_ does it mean?" Rick asked.

"Odin.._.Valtamr_ dies." Angel said, stepping forward. She pointed at Michonne. "She is Verdandi, second of the three, _Being;_ the others are inside." The women nodded. Angel looked over at the rest of her group and explained. "The Norns, the Norse goddesses of destiny—Blake believes that if all three are together it's the end times—past, present and potential all coming together at once-one is Urd, _what was_, older, gray haired and wise, the second a woman in her prime, _what is_, and the third, Skuld_, what is yet to be_ , is a young girl."

"Carol and Beth." Rick said, nodding.

"It could seriously mess with his already screwed up brain if he believes that." Angel told them.

"But he _knows_ her—already wants to kill her for taking his eye—" Tyreese said with concern, looking at Michonne.

"And taking out his walker daughter," Michonne added, knowing the physical harm she had done the man was nothing compared to the fury she had engendered in him with that act.

"We need to _move_!" Daryl said forcefully, impatient with all of the talk which sounded to him like so much bullshit. "Just find him and get me close enough to put a bolt through his other eye."

"I like _him_." the tall blonde, Katrina said approvingly, smiling up at Daryl, who rolled his eyes.

"All right, let's go. Head for the gate, Daryl—let's take out the other two guards." He looked up at the two men atop the barricade closest to the entrance they needed to use. Rick unslung his rifle and looked through the scope while Daryl took aim with his bow.

* * *

_**Two hours, fifty minutes earlier**_

"What took you so long?" Morton yelled as Carol and Martinez came down off of the wall using the construction scaffolding. He and his men were working to patch a breach in the corrugated steel panels that were even now bowing in and out freakishly, as if the metal surface was breathing. One of his men sat slumped beside the hole, his chin to his chest, a long bloody tear in his arm from bicep to wrist, with a very young Valkyrie standing guard over him against the arms and heads reaching through the hole, lopping them off with her katana when they came through too far.

"We were all the way on the north face." Martinez bit out, assessing the situation. He knelt in front of the man and reached forward to lift his chin.

"Need you over here, Rose!" he barked, looking back towards her. Suddenly the injured man's arms came up, grabbing on to Martinez's hand and biting down on the meat of the palm.

"No!" Carol cried, rushing forward.

"Shit!" the Valkyrie yelled, bringing her sword down at a diagonal, slicing through the reanimated raider's skull, cleaving it in half at midline above the nose.

"Fuck!" Martinez groaned, ripping his hand from the still closed jaws of the re-dead biter. Carol knelt beside him, whipping open her med kit and pulling out a band tourniquet which she secured around his arm right above the elbow, hoping she would be fast enough to stop the infection.

"Cut it off!" she told the girl holding the sword, but she was backing away, horrified, shaking her head no. "God _damn_ it!" she swore, "Give me the sword—_now_!" the girl dropped it and turned away. Carol reached back and picked up the katana and sliced cleanly through Martinez's arm about six inches above the wrist.

"Holy shit..." Morton murmured as he watched her work with calm efficiency to staunch the flow of blood as her patient moaned in agony. His men had paused in their work to witness the incident, but when a biter almost made it all of the way through the hole, the tattooed man shot it, kicked the body back through the breach and yelled at the men to get back to the repair.

"Show's over!" he yelled, and then turned back to Carol, Martinez and the Valkyrie. "Pick up your blade, Val, and get back to work." The girl looked shamefaced and nodded, stooping to pick up her sword and mouthing an apology to Carol.

"We need to get him to the infirmary, stat!" Carol said, looking up at Morton. Martinez had passed out, of which Carol was glad. The trauma would send him into shock soon if they didn't get him more help.

"Need to put a bullet in his head—he's done for." Morton said with finality, raising his gun.

"No—wait—I've done this before! With immediate amputation the process can be stopped—he won't turn!" Carol argued. She knew she'd been in time—it would be ridiculous to kill him at this point. Even though she still didn't know if she could trust him, Martinez had helped her—kept her from the others, like this cold man in front of her now. Morton cocked his head to the side and looked at her assessingly.

"It's on you if he turns." he said with a shrug, lowering his gun. He picked up his walkie and called for an evac team. Then he crouched down next to her and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him, "Either way he'll be out of commission," and then he leaned in close and licked the side of her face, "and I can take back what by right _should_ have been mine."

Carol tried to pull away, but he held her face painfully tight between the fingers of his large hand, forcing it to remain in place, and his mouth moved over hers. She clenched her teeth, but he bit down her lip forcing her to gasp and slammed his tongue inside. Carol fought every need she had to bite down, protest this invasion, but she knew he wanted her to fight back so he'd have an excuse to hurt her even more, so she just went still until he finished the punishing mockery of a kiss.

"And seeing as you know your way around a blade, I think we have a new contender for the arena once I get tired of fucking you." he said, laughing low and mocking, and then she did struggle, trying to pull away from him. He released her but then backhanded her, hard, across the left side of her face, splitting her lower lip where he'd already bitten it. She looked at him, the certain promise of his death implicit in her eyes, cool ice blue as she wiped the blood from her mouth by leaning her face to the shoulder of her scrubs.

"There's that fire." he said, sounding satisfied. "Hang on to that, wild Rose. You'll need it in the contests." The evac med crew arrived then and she did her best to ignore him while she helped move Martinez onto the stretcher and packed up her gear.

"Let's move out." she ordered the stretcher bearers.

"See you later, _sweetheart."_ Morton drawled, holstering his gun and turning back to the repairmen, smirking.

_Oh hell no._ Carol thought to herself. Sidestepping the stretcher as they walked by the Valkyrie she swiftly turned and slammed an elbow into the young woman's face, dropping her and relieved her of the sword before anyone knew what was happening. Without hesitation she turned and on the downward swing of the sword's arc, Morton's head made a soft chunk thunk sound as it hit the ground, followed by his headless body a couple of beats later.

"Nobody calls me sweetheart but _Daryl_." Carol growled, punching the end of the sword through the dead man's eye with a quick stab. She bent down and relieved his body of the walkie which she set on the stretcher with Martinez, and then the pistol, which she held in her left hand. She looked up at the workers who were staring at her in disbelief. "Anybody have a problem with that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No m'am." the oldest of the workers said quickly and the other two men nodded in agreement.

"Your weapons?" she asked them, pointing the gun at them.

"All they let us have is a screwdriver to stab biters if we needed." The older man said, pulling an eight inch flathead from his tool belt to show her. "We're prisoners here as much as you...brought in by the bandits 'at raided our group when we made the mistake of tellin' them what we did before the Turn." Carol frowned at him.

"Pete here was a carpenter," he said, pointing at each of the men in turn, "Andy was a diesel mechanic and I was a plumber. I'm Jefferson."

"Anybody have a problem with getting the hell outa this nuthouse?" she asked them, turning so she was encompassing the stretcher men in her question. No one disagreed. "Then leave it." she said, indicating the breach, "Pick her up and bring her with us." She pointed at the Valkyrie.

"Where are we going?" one of the stretcher bearers asked. Carol stuck the pistol in the back of her pants and then leaned down to check on Martinez, who seemed to be stable. She needed to get him help, but she also had to find G and Beth before Aud put her mad plan into motion. She looked at the questioner.

"To talk to a woman about Ragnarok." Carol answered.

* * *

_**I have read a couple of different versions of the names of the Norns, but am using this in my story:**_

_**The Norns:**_ "Their names are Urd (Old Norse _Urðr_, "What Once Was"), Verdandi (Old Norse _Verðandi_, "What Is Coming into Being") and Skuld (Old Norse _Skuld_, "What Shall Be")."- Dan McCoy,_ Norse Mythology org, _2012-13.

_**Just as Bob told Glenn, we each create our own universe, which is the same sort of cyclical view of time, fate and destiny that the Norse Vikings from whom Blake is borrowing traditions used. Past, present and future all exist at once and can affect one another:**_

"Creation is an ongoing process in which everything, from a goddess to a speck of dirt, participates. In the well-known Christian model of creation, one being (God) made the world all by himself in a single act that occurred at some specific point in the past. As a result, all beings are nothing more than his "Creation," defined and determined by his omnipotent will. **By contrast, the Germanic model implicitly claims that we are all **_**created creators**_**, carrying forward the world's ceaseless reinvention of itself...** there is no absolutely free will, just as there is no absolutely unalterable fate. Instead, life is lived somewhere in the enormous range of possibilities that lies between these two extremes-Dan McCoy, "Yggdrasil and the Well of Urd." _Norse Mythology org, _2012-13.

_**Carol just changed her fate. Isn't she awesome? **_

_**Thanks to all followers, favorites and especially those of you who take the time to review. Next chapter: Caryl reunion, I promise!**_


	33. Chapter 33: The Sons of Muspell

_**Carol and Daryl's groups meet up and plans are made.**_

* * *

_**33. The Sons of Muspell**_

She was magnificent. Covered in guts, cutting her way through the horde of walkers surrounding her and a small rag tag group of survivors, Carol looked like some avenging angel with a blade. Daryl put his hand on Tyreese's shoulder, pointed to the group moving through the herd. Ty nodded and turned, raising his arm to signal to Rick, Felipe and Michonne, who was leading the remaining Valkyries.

Carol saw him then and the look of intense pure joy on her face made Daryl gasp. If he had been on his own two feet Daryl would've run to her then; instead he had to settle for knowing that she saw he was here—that he had come for her—though she seemed to have done a pretty good job of saving herself and a bunch of other people from the looks of it.

_Should've known he'd figure out some way to be in the thick of battle even with a broken leg_, Carol thought. How Daryl had talked Tyreese into that arrangement was going to be an interesting story, and it would be one of the first things she asked him _after_ they spent at least the next 48 hours in bed...

"Stay together—keep tight formation—we're almost there!" Carol said, slicing through another walker. There were in the main lobby heading for the entrance to the parking garage structure next door. The herd swarming the place was not an unexpected obstacle, and so far they had held their own. Even Martinez, dosed with the strongest painkillers in the infirmary, was wielding his baseball bat one handed as they made their way as quietly as possible.

When she had spotted the small group of new Valkyrie moving towards them, unfettered through the herd, Carol realized they were also using the same camo technique as she and Daryl had in the storm cellar, giving her hope, and then she saw Michonne and her heart sang. They were here. They had come for her._ He_ had come for her.

* * *

_**Two hours, thirty minutes earlier**_

When they had gotten him back to the infirmary, Dr. West had examined Martinez with clinical detachment, more interested in her amputation technique than in the fact that he had survived a bite.

"Good clean cut, but you didn't give me much skin to work with to close over the wound..." the man mused as he examined it.

"I was a little more concerned with stopping the bite infection from spreading." Carol said dryly. West nodded and then picked up the walkie from off of the stretcher and thumbed it on.

"Morton? This is West, I have Mar-" the doctor began, but stopped when he heard the click of a pistol being cocked right next to his head.

"He'll have a little trouble hearing you." Carol said, "Since that's_ his_ walkie..." The doctor looked down at the device and then up at her, moving only his eyes "...and he's dead."

"I see." West said, holding very still. "And do you intend to kill me as well?"

"I'd prefer not to—Doctors are at a premium these days." Carol told him, "but if you're going to be an asshole I could be persuaded."

"No asshole, no m'am." West said.

"Then put down the walkie and see about stitching up Martinez and getting some antibiotics and painkillers in him-not necessarily in that order."

"I can do that." West agreed, setting the walkie back down carefully. "And now I need to stand up to get to work." he told her.

Carol released the gun's mechanism and lowered it.

"Then get to work." she said, "I'll be keeping my eye on you..."

_"Rose?" _Aud/Nell came into the room, followed by Mel and Sawyer. All were sweaty and quite dirty and were armed with swords and guns. Carol turned to look at them, positioning herself so she could still watch West as he examined Martinez.

_"Nell?" _the workman who had identified himself as Jefferson cried out.

_"Daddy?"_ she said, and all eyes turned to them as the girl rushed into the man's arms.

"Oh my little girl..."

"They told me you were dead! Oh daddy—we have to get out of here!"

"What? Why?"

"We came to get Rose—I did it—I set the boiler on overload." All heads turned to look at the girl and she smiled proudly.

"You didit_ already_?" Carol asked sharply and then everyone looked at her. Nell nodded.

"How much time do we have?" her father asked.

"I'm not sure exactly-the propane tanks were about half full-two or three hours?" Nell said. "You'd know better if you looked at them, I guess." She told her father.

"Can you shut it down? We can't go until I find my friends!" Carol asked.

"Friends?" Nell asked.

"They came in after me—at the north gate—a blonde girl and a Hispanic man."

"The trader who bought Angel? He's your _friend_?" Mel asked, sounding angry.

"Angel is his best friend Felipe's sister—he _rescued_ her. They must've been trying to do the same for me." Carol told them.

"They're with him—the Allfather." Sawyer said quietly. "In the Hall...with most of the elite..."

"Shit." Carol said, putting her hand to her forehead. She took a breath and then looked over at the doctor who was gloving up to work on Martinez's hand.

"What do we do?" Mel asked. Carol looked at the workmen, Sawyer and the other women.

"I need you to bring me a couple of biter bodies-no heads."

* * *

The two guts covered groups came together at the entrance to the parking garage, which was closed off by a locked double set of fire doors. Sawyer produced a set of keys that opened the panel next to it and he manipulated the controls so that the door buzzed and opened. After a quick look he motioned them all forward and they went through quickly, but they had to keep pushing the walkers back who tried to follow. When they were all through Sawyer locked it again from the garage side.

Daryl hit the harness release and was almost dumped on his ass, but Tyreese turned and grabbed him, holding him up until Daryl could balance by himself on one leg. Sheathing her sword at her back Carol ran for him, the rest of the merged groups parting to make way for her, Rick grinning like a fool, and even Michonne smiling and nodding her head.

"I stink, sweetheart." Daryl warned her as she reached him.

"Oh so do I, _Boo._" Carol told him with a huge smile and threw her arms around him, almost knocking him down. Daryl chuckled; he'd never heard her use an endearment for _him_ before, and that was a popular southern one for someone you love.

"So now I'm yer boo?" he teased softly and she nodded and hugged him tighter. He swayed but didn't fall and they held on, that remembered feeling of being at home in each other's arms the most wonderful thing they could imagine. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she looked up at him, still smiling, her eyes shining, but then his face darkened when he saw her split lip and the bruises already showing on the left side of her face. He raised his hand to gently hold her chin and turned her face to the side to examine it.

_"I'll kill him."_ Daryl intoned, his voice full of deadly promise, cradling the side of her face in his hand.

"I already did." Carol assured him, raising her hand to his cheek.

"Blake or Martinez?" Daryl asked, his look feral. At his name the Hispanic man's head came up.

_"Neither_—Martinez protected me, Daryl—he said he owed you...for Merle."

"He didn't _'claim' _you?" Daryl said angrily, keeping his voice low.

"Daryl! _No._" she put her other hand on his other cheek, holding his face, making him look at her.

"The man that hurt you? Did _this_?" he lightly caressed her cheek,"Did he..." he couldn't finish the question, afraid of knowing how he'd failed her.

"No. _No one._ I got this for standing my ground and then I took his head." she smiled fiercely at him. "Now shut up and kiss me." She demanded, but he ran his thumb over her cut lip and frowned at her, not wanting to hurt her. She shook her head at him and pulled his mouth to hers—the warm welcome touch of him more than compensating for the pain of her sore lip.

Rick's eyes went wide at the passionate display from his two dearest friends and his eyes skittered away in semi-embarrassment, but then alighted on Michonne who was smiling at him in some secretive way that made him flush hot and look away quickly.

"Glenn?" Carol asked when they finally had to come up for air.

"He's good-surgery worked-he and Maggie send their love." Daryl told her, keeping his arms around her.

"Oh thank God," Carol breathed out a sigh and Daryl pressed a kiss to the still livid older bruise near her temple, not wanting to tell her the rest, about the young couple's loss. That news could wait.

"Beth and Guillermo?" Daryl asked, not seeing the two would-be infiltrators with the rest.

"We couldn't get to them-they're in the central hall-it's too heavily guarded. We thought if we could get to the armory cage here by the vehicles we'd have enough fire power to go after them." Martinez explained, coming over to stand in front of the couple.

"So you weren't just tryin' to _run_?" Daryl said skeptically, looking the man over, noting with wry irony that he had lost the same hand as Merle.

"We weren't." Martinez said evenly. "But we _are_ on a deadline-"

"The boiler." Rick said then, coming closer, "We heard. How long do we have?"

"Nell and her father and his friends went down to the boiler room to see if they could stop it or at least tell us more exactly how long we have. They were supposed to meet us here, but..." Carol said, looking back at the door they had just come through.

"They're not here." Rick said, huffing out a breath. "So we have to go with the original time table-how much time does that give us?" Carol looked to Martinez.

"About an hour if we're _real_ lucky." Caesar said, looking at his watch. It had taken them almost an hour and a half to take out and disembowel the walkers while West finished his surgery on Martinez, Nell and her father gathered the tools to head for the boiler and Sawyer scouted Beth and G's location.

"You got hand cuffs in that armory?" Rick asked, and both Sawyer and Martinez gave him questioning looks but nodded. "You boys just captured public enemies one and two." He announced, looking over at Michonne.

"Rick, no!" Tyreese cried, "He'll kill you on sight-_both_ of you!"

"Uh Uh." Michonne told him, shaking her head in negation, "Evil always wants to gloat. Gets our foot in the door."

"Then the rest of you -well armed- will follow when we have Beth and G protected." Rick said, looking around at the merged groups.

"As a plan it doesn't _totally _suck." Martinez allowed. As far as Blake knew he and Sawyer were still loyal. He looked over at the doctor, West, who had been watching and listening with interest. He didn't trust the man, but Carol had been unwilling to leave him behind, knowing that the hotel was a ticking time bomb. He'd need to be watched or left back here tied up when they made their move.

_"Loki."_ Mel said then, looking at Rick in recognition. "I knew I'd seen you before!"

"What?" Rick asked, confused.

"He gave me a sketch that he had done, said to use it as the face of the trickster-it was _you...Wow._ He _really _hates you..." she marveled, liking this leader even more. When Rick still looked confused she explained, "Way oversimplifying this, but Loki tricked Odin and the other gods on several occasions-he's like-the Allfather's nemesis-and when he's released from his bondage at Ragnarok he and his minions-giants, his monstrous sons, the wolf and serpent and the dead raised-will come for Odin and the gods."

"We tricked him at the prison-that's when he really lost it." Daryl said to Rick, Michonne and Carol, and then looked at Martinez coldly, "Killed them all on the road-'cept _you_, looks like." He held the other man's gaze, "Don't got nothin' to say 'bout that?" Daryl ground out, thinking of the aftermath of the wholesale slaughter he'd witnessed.

"Can't ever make up for that-no matter what I do." Martinez said quietly.

"Puttin' a bullet in that _psycho's_ head would a been a good _start!_" Daryl yelled, furious, thinking of all of the kids back at the prison who had been orphaned that day. Carol put her hand on his arm, drawing his attention away from the other man.

"Daryl-you're right, but we don't have time for this now." She said gently. "We have to get Beth and G."

"She's right, _ese_." Felipe said, nodding.

"We need to move before Surt and the sons of Muspell arrive." Mel said with a grim smile, and Rick's group looked at her questioningly. _"Surt will fling fire in every direction...places of raging flame, swirling smoke, ashes only ashes. The nine worlds will burn and the gods will die."_ She quoted. Daryl, Rick and Michonne looked at Carol with their eyebrows raised.

"Art historian." She told them with a shrug and they nodded.

"We should send someone to see what happened to Nell." One of the Valkyrie spoke up. It was the blonde, Katrina. Rick looked over the group, trying to decide who made the most sense to send.

"I can't spare many fighters..." he began.

"I'll go." Felipe volunteered, "Give me two of these hot warrior women to watch _mi culo_ and I'm good." Two were quickly chosen and most of the group headed for the armory cage.

"All right then-let's get this show in the road!" Daryl said with a fist pump, but Carol saw the wince of pain that flashed across his face as he over balanced and had to put weight on his bad leg. Supporting him under his shoulder, she helped him over to sit on the tailgate of an old pickup truck that Sawyer had lowered for him. Carol helped him remove his quiver and bow, then unbuckled the top part of the climbing harness and peeled down the gooey messy trench coat he wore over a sleeveless shirt until his arms and upper body were free. He raised his broken leg out in front of him, setting it up on the tailgate and groaned involuntarily. The muscles in his back, hips and thighs were cramped from being in the harness so many hours.

"You should rest too, while you have the chance." Carol gently told Tyreese, who looked exhausted. He nodded at her and went and sat in the cab of the truck, laying back onto the bench seat and closing his eyes.

Carol took off her sword and gory lab coat and then climbed up into the truck bed and sat so that Daryl's back was to her front, her legs on the outside of his, and began at the back of his neck, rubbing his sore muscles into submission. Next she moved to his shoulders and it felt so good Daryl thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

"_Christ_ woman, where'd you learn to do that?" Daryl moaned and Tyreese's head popped up, looking at them through the cab window, grunting and laying back down when he was cheated out of anything juicy to report.

"I had to learn to soothe the savage beast." She told him, keeping her voice neutral, wanting to be honest with him, but not wanting to discuss Ed. Daryl's hand came up and found hers and pulled it around to his mouth, palming a kiss.

_"I love you, Carol."_ He said softly. She let her fingers move over the bristled beard on his chin and jaw in a caress, while her other arm went tightly around his torso and she rested her head sideways on his broad back.

_"I love you too, Boo."_ She replied, and she felt his head move slightly in a nod and his breath hitch raggedly. Daryl Dixon was quietly, silently, crying.

* * *

_**Oh the feels.**_

_**Mel's quotation is from the account of Ragnarok in Kevin Crossley-Holland's book, **__**The Norse Myths.**_

_**Next up**__**: rescuing Beth and G; and what will become of the self deluded self titled 'Tamer of the Dead'?**_


	34. Chapter 34: The Cuckoo

_**AN: Ok, I'm spoiling you with new chapters three days in a row, but when the muse calls I have to write! Here's what Beth & G have been dealing with while our rescuers regroup. **_

* * *

_**34. The Cuckoo**_

"_**That's the cuckoo, you say, I cannot hear it...the cuckoo's note would be drowned by the voice of my dead." -Edward Thomas, **__**The Cuckoo**_

* * *

"Sing something for me, pretty." The madman said, but the girl remained silent.

"She's waiting for you to tell her what to sing." G told him, as if he hadn't a care in the world. As if he wasn't locked in a room with a monster and 15 corpses that could reanimate at any time.

Beth looked over at Guillermo, trying to emulate his calm. She was terrified, wished she had her knife, her sword, even better-a gun-with which she could defend herself against the horrific situation she found herself in. They had been brought into the compound by armed guards and then searched by another man who leered at her the whole time he swept his hands over her body. G had stopped him though, with a quiet word about taking an inch of flesh out of the man for every bruise he put on her perfect skin, and he was very specific about which _particular_ inches they would be. Despite the kindness he had shown to her group, the Vato leader was deeply, terrifyingly menacing when he wanted to be, a fact for which Beth was infinitely grateful.

They had been taken to the hall and offered food and drink, which G had refused, saying he would wait for their host's arrival, but then cautioning Beth with his lips to her ear not to eat or drink anything. Blake was known for drugging the unwary, especially women. Over the next two hours, bizarrely garbed men, dressed like extras on the LOTR Rohan set began to drift in, a few at a time, some of them greeting G by name, others making a show of coming up to inspect the merchandise, forcing Beth to sing her mama's favorite hymn inside her head to remain outwardly stoic.

_Abide with me: fast falls the eventide  
the darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide.  
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,  
Help of the helpless, O abide with me_

Finally the man himself entered the room, followed by two armed women carrying trays set with flagons that they placed in front of the places quickly filled by the other men. G and Beth stood before Blake's raised table, waiting.

_Earth's joys grow dim. Its glories pass away  
change and decay in all around I see.  
Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;  
O Lord who changes not, abide with me_

"Greetings! I bid you welcome to my Hall, well met and happily!" Blake said, "A toast of mead!" he called, raising his elaborate flagon and seeming to drain it in one long draught. All of the men around him did the same and drank deep, some sputtering as they were forced to stop and take a breath, but all finishing their sweet honeyed drink.

Blake narrowed his eyes at G, and then tilted his head, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

"Still holding to your heathen beliefs, my friend?" he asked.

"It is Allah who would consider _you_ the heathen, my friend." G said calmly. That was how he had been able to avoid the drink during his previous visit, claiming his religious beliefs forbade him from imbibing.

"Ah but mead is not of the grape, it is from the bee!" Blake said triumphantly.

"A technicality, since vodka may be of the potato, whiskey from malt and barley and hops make beer, but the intention is to avoid_ inebriation_, not the fermented grape." G argued smoothly.

Rather than concede the point, Blake grunted and then changed the subject, looking more closely at Beth. She was on the third verse of her head canon hymn, and it seemed eerily apt.

_I fear no foe with you at hand to bless  
though ills have weight and tears their bitterness.  
Where is death's sting? Where, grave, your victory?  
I triumph still if you abide with me._

"And who do we have here?" Blake asked with a small smile as he looked her up and down.

"Special." G said, smiling only slightly.

"Oh?" Blake asked, clearly intrigued.

"Tell him, _bonita_."

"They're all dead. My mother, father, brother, sister...and her baby..." and tears flowed down her cheek. Beth really hadn't had time to process her deep sadness at Maggie and Glenn's loss, so they had built it into her story, knowing the real emotions would help sell it.

"She was alone, wandering. I came across her in the ruins of a Galleria." G told the assembly.

"Sounds like you had a most excellent day at the mall." One of the men smirked, but then cleared his throat and coughed, like one does from a persistent annoying tickle.

"She was locked up tight in a music store, playing a piano and singing." G said, smiling fondly, as if it was a sweet memory he treasured. "I thought it was an angel come for me; had to check and make sure I hadn't been bit and forgot." He chuckled, as did several of the other men, but then two or three of them started coughing as well.

"He said if I went with him he'd take care of me. And he has." Beth told them, "Food, clothes, a chance to get _clean _again." She made the last sound almost like it had been more important than eating.

"Why were you in _that _store, darlin'?" Blake asked, an odd detail to have picked up on.

"It was our store-my parents-The Music Makers Music Store." She said, frowning at him, as if wondering why he would ask such a stupid question. Blake nodded slowly.

"What's your name, sweet thing?" he asked her then.

_"Penny."_ She said, keeping her pleasant expression, but inwardly felt deep satisfaction when she saw his face go white. This was Michonne's idea, to play with the madman's head by bringing up his dead daughter, hopefully throwing him off balance.

"How...how old are you honey?" Blake whispered. Beth looked over at G as if asking permission.

"You can tell him the truth." G nodded. What they had agreed beforehand, _not _the reality. With her fresh scrubbed looks, long legs and thin frame she could pass for anywhere from a coltish 12 to 20.

"I'm 14, sir." She said, ducking her head shyly; Carl's age. One of the men behind her let out a long leering whistle and others laughed lasciviously. Blake surprised them by banging his flagon down hard three times on the table.

"I am the _Allfather_ and I will have respect for this _child_!" he demanded. The men looked uneasily around the table. Two of them had their heads down on their arms like children at their desks, appearing to have fallen asleep, a third broke into a coughing fit, holding his hand over his mouth but then gasping as his hand came away bloody. He stood up too quickly and his chair fell down with a crash behind him and he stumbled back, grabbing for the arm of the man next to him who pulled back when he saw the blood pouring from the first man's mouth.

"What the fuck is happening?" one of the men, Carson, cried, clutching his chest and falling head first onto the table.

"I would say that Carson got the digitalis..." Blake began, and then his gaze shifted to a man who was now seizing violently, foamy spittle coming from his mouth, "oh and," he winced delicately, "it looks like poor Adams got the strychnine."

"Ugly way to die." G said, nodding, again retaining that preternatural calm. Beth's eyes went wide, realizing that Blake had poisoned them _all_-every single drink had been laced with some sort of killer drug-why? Why would he kill his own-and then she realized who she was dealing with. He'd done this before.

_"You bastard-you mother fucking son of a bitch!" _screamed a man at the far end of the table, standing and drawing his pistol, unsteadily aiming at Blake, but when he pulled the trigger all that happened was a click. Furious, he tried again, but again, no bullet issued forth. Blake just shook his head at him sadly and waved goodbye as the would be gunslinger's eyes rolled back in his head and he fell face forward onto the table.

"Schultz never did learn how to break down and clean his own weapon; always had a Valkyrie do it for him..." Blake said admonishingly.

"End game?" Guillermo asked, wondering at what possible strategy had led to this slaughter.

"I am _Valtamr_-Tamer of the Dead-I can command the ones I _make_ to do my bidding." He said in a tone that said it should have been perfectly obvious. "They all had their petty little intrigues and jealousies-infighting over the women and the other spoils. I was sick of it. It's Ragnarok. I need their focus on battle, not getting laid." He looked over at Beth apologetically, "I'm sorry to be so crude, my dear, but they really were focused on...what men and women do..." his voice faded, and he actually seemed to be embarrassed. "But now when they rise they will fight by my side against the forces that will come to destroy me."

G was loath to point out that his former minions were more likely to _attack_ him than _fight_ for him. His brain clicked along quickly, seeking advantage in this. They were alone with Blake, except for the two Valkyrie bar maid/guards that stood on either side of the table, but the women had katanas, knives and guns, as did Blake.

"Sing something for me, pretty Penny" The madman said, but the girl remained silent. "While we wait."

"She's waiting for you to tell her what to sing." G told him, as if he hadn't a care in the world. As if he wasn't locked in a room with a monster and 15 corpses that could reanimate at any time.

"Oh, gosh, I don't know-what's your favorite-what were you singing when Guillermo found you? Sing that." Blake said, raising his hand and gesturing to them both. G nodded, and Beth took a few deep breaths as she fought to remember the lyrics of the ballad that, if possible, she was supposed to use to signal that her friends should attack. She knew they were overdue to report in and hoped that Rick, Daryl and the rest had found Carol and gotten her to safety so that they could come after her and G. She nodded at G.

_Is anybody out there?  
Is anybody listening?  
Does anybody really know?  
If it's the end of our beginning._

_A cry  
A rush  
From one breath  
Is all we're waiting for  
Sometimes the one we're taking  
Changes every one before_

_It's everything you wanted, it's everything you don't  
It's one door swinging open and one door swinging closed  
Some prayers find an answer  
Some prayers never know  
We're holding on and letting go_

_Sometimes we're holding angels_  
_And we never even know..._  
_Don't know if we'll make it,_  
_But we know,_  
_We just can't let it show..._

"Stop!" Blake cried out, tears running down his face.

Beth froze, looked over at G, who gave her a barely perceptible nod, and mouthed, _Wait._

"Come here, child." Blake ordered, his voice quiet, more subdued than she'd yet heard it. Beth stepped closer to the table. He turned his chair sideways and bade her come around the table. She hesitated, but he made an impatient beckoning gesture and she went to stand in front of him. Slowly, tentatively, he raised his hand to take hers and pull her down to sit sideways on his lap, resting her head against his chest and combing his fingers through her hair.

Fearful, Beth looked pleadingly at G, whose breathing was more labored as he fought for control, but he remained outwardly calm, clenching his fists at his sides and looking up at the silent women to the right and left of the false Odin.

"Now Penny...sing that last part again; about...about _holding angels..."_ he asked her gently. Beth swallowed hard. A movement at one of the side tables caught her eye. One of the dead men's hands had twitched. She closed her eyes, trying to will it away, and started singing again, her voice trembling,

_Sometimes we're holding angels  
And we never even know  
Don't know if we'll make it,  
But we know,  
We just can't let it show..._

* * *

_**Yes, quite an angst filled time for Beth & G; let's hope help gets there in time!**_

**The cuckoo is what is known as a brood parasite, using mimicry to deceive its host, which is essentially what Beth does in this chapter, first by dressing as a 'Lolita' and then by assuming the name of Blake's dead daughter. (The female cuckoo lays its look-alike eggs in the nest of another species, and when the chick hatches out it imitates the call of the other bird's chicks. It also pushes the real young out of the nest, essentially murdering them, so that it gets all the food and care from its unwitting foster parents).**

**To be called 'cuckoo' also obviously means you are crazy, which Phillip Blake clearly is-oh so very bonkers!**

**When I found the kind of creepy Thomas poem, **_**The Cuckoo**_**, quoted above in the intro, it all fit.**

_**Abide With Me,**_** lyrics by Henry Francis Lyte (1847) is a quite spookily apt hymn for the walker apocalypse. **

_**Holding On and Letting Go,**_** song and lyrics by Ross Copperman, is of course the song from which I took the title for this story! It only took 33 chapters for **_**that**_** payoff...**

**Thank you again to all favorites, followers, and reviewers. I'm glad so many of you liked the incorporation of Daryl being Carol's 'boo' in the last chapter. So looking forward to this Sunday!**


	35. Chapter 35: Prelude to the Crisis

_**A little flashback and some Caryl sweetness before the Battle in the Hall.**_

* * *

_**35. Prelude to the Crisis**_

_**Quarry Camp, outside Atlanta, 3 years ago**_

"I see you talkin' to that redneck son of a bitch again, I'll kill him—you hear me, woman?"

Carol closed her eyes against Ed's latest tirade. Before he had started to prepare to leave with Rick, Glenn and T-Dog for Atlanta to find his brother, Daryl Dixon had stopped by the main cooking campfire and dropped off the string of field dressed squirrel he had returned from his hunt with earlier in the day—the ones he had thrown at the new man, Lori's long lost husband, Rick. He had only said two words to her, _"Here's lunch,"_ in a quiet, even, polite voice before he briefly, shyly raised his startlingly blue eyes to hers and nodded, then quickly turned on his heel and walked away to pack up for his trip. Carol had been almost too stunned to thank him.

The Dixons had been in camp less than a week and in that time she hadn't spoken to him, her attention, whenever they were around, was usually held by the louder of the two, the drug addled older one, called Merle. If Ed got uglier and meaner when he was drunk, Merle got just as vicious when he was high. Daryl was busy running interference for his brother, keeping him out of the orbit of the lawman Shane, and away from young Amy, Andrea and Lori as much as possible. Merle had gone off on both T-Dog and Glenn—embarrassingly racist attacks, fortunately only verbal, thanks to Daryl's subtle intervention, joining in with more insults, mollifying Merle and easing him away with the promise of a drink and a smoke if he came back to their 'Caucasian campfire.'

It was easy to dismiss both men as the worst kind of southern stereotype—inbred, dirty, backwoods racists with too many guns and not enough brains—but Daryl had gone hunting for not just he and Merle, but for the _whole _group. She hadn't considered that before today. When he had shown up this morning chasing the deer he'd shot that had been downed by a walker just outside of camp he'd been furious at losing his kill. It was a nice sized animal, enough to feed the whole camp and then some. He would've had plenty for him and his brother just from his collection of squirrels, but instead he'd stayed out all night, in walker infested woods, tracking a deer so they could all have meat to eat.

As Ed went on disparaging the Dixons, Carol watched Daryl as he moved through the camp, gathering up his belongings and weapons, his crossbow slung over his back. He could be loud, rude, violent—earlier she'd stood in the shade of the RV watching as he expressed his righteous anger and disbelief at what he was being told, _"You handcuffed my brother to a roof and you just left him there?" _and then took on the two sheriff's deputies, pulling his big buck knife on them—but what she felt most was his_ fear_ about his missing brother, his look of despair and frustration that he had somehow_ failed_. She realized that Daryl was a care-taker—that he protected Merle_ from_ Merle as best he could. But he was in a losing game. You can never really save anyone. They have to save themselves. They have to find it within themselves to have the will to change or fight to survive.

Carol saw Daryl stop next at Merle's big motorcycle; put his hand on the handle bars and seat as if it was a dog he was petting and then go to the rear of the bike and dig through the saddle bags for something that he rolled and stuffed in his back pack. He strutted to the box truck where Glenn sat waiting and nimbly hopped up into the back, strangely, mesmerizingly graceful. A look of disgust came over his face as he saw Rick still talking to Shane and Lori and he went to the front of the compartment and used his foot to push Glenn aside and stomp on the horn.

_"C'mon!"_ he bellowed impatiently, "Let's _go_!" making Carol's cheek dimple in amusement. He was so physical—like a force of nature. She didn't see the quick sharp jab to her kidney coming, so intent was she on watching Daryl. She gasped and doubled over, but Ed roughly grabbed her upper arm and jerked her up and then followed up with a punishing grip around her neck at her nape, getting in her face.

"I see you _watchin'_ him again...I'll kill _you."_ he said, his voice one of cruel promise. "You got it?"

Carol nodded. She got it. This was her life. She would never have another one where she could afford the luxury of pondering the mysteries of a man like the younger Dixon brother. Ed released her neck but took her left hand instead, holding it up so she could look at it.

"You see this?" he indicated her wedding ring. "Long as this is on your finger, you don't spread your skinny legs for nobody but me."

Carol inwardly rolled her eyes at Ed's interpretation of the vows they'd exchanged over these bands fifteen years ago. She thought she been promising to love and care for him until death parted them, but he'd seen them as a free pass to use her however he wished.

"Carol?" Jacqui asked, coming into view around the side of the tent. Ed held Carol's hand for a beat longer, squeezing it, enjoying her wince of pain, and then released her.

"Whatta you want, Hattie?" Ed said mockingly. Jacqui gave him a sour look and then turned her attention to Carol.

"We're headin' down to the quarry to do laundry—you ready?" she asked kindly and Carol gave her a small grateful smile. She liked the smart independent African American woman.

"Sure—let me get our dirty things together."

"Meet you—" Jacqui began.

"I'll drive you down—we'll take the Cherokee." Ed interrupted. Carol nodded, but inwardly groaned as she ducked back in the tent. He was going to follow her everywhere now. All she'd done was exchange literally two words with a handsome man—_whoa_—where had that random thought come from? Did she really think _Daryl_ was handsome? Until this morning all she'd really thought about him was that he needed someone to patch up the holes in the knees of his pants and to introduce both he and his clothes to the concept of soap. But today she'd had a chance to look into the sky blue of his eyes above those high cheek bones, had watched his unconsciously proud strut across camp, saw his strength unleashed as he battled the two other men...well _damn. _

Carol huffed out a sigh, fingering the small golden cross around her neck, saying a prayer, the same one she always said about her husband. The one she knew was wrong, but couldn't help..._until death parts us..._

"The hell you doin' in there, woman?" Ed barked, and she smelled the acrid smoke from a newly lit cigarette drift through the tent threateningly. Carol's right hand moved away from her cross to twirl the gold band on her left ring finger.

"Be right out." she called. Carol didn't exactly know why, but for the first time in a very long time, she felt an odd emotion...if she didn't know any better, she'd have called it hope.

* * *

_**Senoia, 3 years later, Parking Garage of Hotel Complex controlled by Phillip Blake**_

Sitting in the back of the old pickup truck, Daryl still held Carol's left hand in his, her arm draped over his shoulder, her other arm around him. He felt her soft small form pressed against his back, her head resting there between his shoulder blades. He reached up and found the leather cord he had used to secure the ring around his neck, moving it through his fingers until he felt the platinum circle.

He had showed Lori's ring to Rick when they were at the Vet Clinic, explaining what Carl had done, asking permission to give it to Carol. Rick had taken the ring and held it in his palm, his eyes filling with tears as he looked down at it, making Daryl feel like shit.

"Nah—I'm sorry—you keep it, brother." Daryl had told him, his voice rasping. Rick's hand closed over the ring and Daryl started to turn away, but then his friend had thrust out his other hand to stop him, grabbing Daryl's forearm.

"_Carl_ did that?" Rick got out, his voice choked with emotion. Unsure of himself, Daryl nodded.

"I told him he should give it to you—or save it fer lil' asskick—_Judith_..." Daryl said quietly.

"No—Carl was right. This would make Lori happy; you and Carol." Rick pressed the ring into Daryl's hand. "It's platinum—supposed to last forever," he told him. And then he did something so unexpected it still made Daryl shake his head. Rick took off his own wedding ring and passed it to Daryl as well. "They're a set," was all he said. Daryl's head wrinkled in a worried frown, but Rick was done. He briefly clasped Daryl's hand in both of his and then walked away.

Daryl felt the second larger ring which encircled the smaller, nestled protected, inside it on the string. They had originally been exchanged in love, and now they would be again.

Rick and Michonne came to stand nearby, deep in conversation, and Daryl caught Rick's eye and motioned him closer, indicating that he should bring the woman as well.

"Glad to see you're taking a break." Rick said, and Carol's head came up, slightly embarrassed to be hanging on Daryl so obviously. She slid back so she could move her legs and sit beside him rather than behind. She looked up just as Michonne lowered her cape's hood.

"Oh!" Carol made a little sound of surprise to see the dreads were gone, but then she smiled and nodded at the other woman approvingly, and Michonne smiled and nodded back in acknowledgement. Their orbits at the prison were somewhat separate, but as it was often the katana master who backed up Daryl on his scouting and hunting missions, Carol made it her business to unobtrusively do small things for her like mend any rips or tears in the warrior woman's clothes when they came through the wash and make sure she saved an extra helping of the foods she knew Michonne favored, such as the spicy hot fermented cabbage kimchi that Glenn had made in a fit of nostalgia when the first of the vegetable had been harvested.

While Carol's attention was focused on the others, Daryl reached up and pulled the leather string over his head and then took out his buck knife and cut it at the knot so he could let the rings drop into his palm. Rick raised his brow when he saw what Daryl was doing, but didn't speak, waiting for Daryl, who sheathed his knife and then looked up.

"I wanted you here-you're family." Daryl said to Rick and Michonne as he reached over and took Carol's right hand in his left to get her attention. Michonne frowned, but moved closer. Carol looked over at him, saw the serious expression on his face and she smiled at him quizzically.

Daryl opened his right hand while he released Carol's, letting them all see the rings. He pulled them apart and handed the larger one to her.

"Rick gave me this-it was his." Then he held out the smaller. "Carl gave me this-it was Lori's. They want us to have them." Carol's little gasp and hand to her mouth as she looked up at him and then over at Rick were exactly what Daryl had expected.

"Rick?" she asked, both of them tearing up. Rick nodded and his mouth trembled, caught between a sob and a smile. She held out her left hand to him and he stepped closer to take it and she pulled him into a hug. Daryl watched them, a small satisfied smile on his face. He glanced over at Michonne.

"Don't be gettin' no ideas, moonshine." She grunted at him and then laughed, a dimple appearing in her cheek. Daryl snorted a chuckle back at her. Rick kissed Carol's cheek and released her, stepping back to stand beside Michonne. Daryl turned towards Carol and took her left hand in his.

"We can have a big shindig when we get home if'n you want, but right here, right now's all I really need; you're my wife." Daryl said, "and I'll love you the rest a' my life." As they all watched him, he put Lori's wedding band on Carol's finger. It fit. She lifted her eyes to his, her expression serious and searching.

"I don't think you'll ever stop surprising me." She told him, and he gave her that quirk of a smile she so loved, the one he seemed to reserve just for her, where just one corner of his mouth went up. And then she put the larger band on his left ring finger, saying, "You're my husband and I'll love you the rest of my life." They sat there, staring at one another, hands clasped.

"Aren't ya supposed to kiss her now or sumthin'?" a basso profundo voice boomed from behind them. Tyreese was leaning on the side of the truck, his arms crossed in front of him, head tilted to the side as he watched. Daryl's right eye twitched and he started to turn back to bitch at the man, but Carol swiftly reached up and took his face in her hands and kissed him and then all of the tracker's attention shifted to the wonderful feeling of his wife's persuasive soft lips against his, reminding him where his priorities should be right at that moment.

Michonne glanced over at Rick and saw the look of intense pain warring with his happiness for Daryl and Carol on his expressive face. She'd never met his wife except in the stories Andrea had woven for her in those months they'd spent together on the road, about all of the people at the farm, about how complicated their relationships had become, but she knew the pain of unresolved love and loss. She shifted her body position, so that her shoulder brushed against his and then let her hip fall so she was leaning on him, ever so slightly.

* * *

_**So you all can throw rice or bird seed or blow bubbles (or whatever's currently correct now) for Mr. and Mrs. Daryl & Carol Dixon; ) **_

_**Vows prompted by NR's 'dailydead' website interview comment: "If Daryl falls in love with you, he's going to love you the rest of his life."**_

_**Next, let's get rid of that psycho Phillip, shall we?**_

_**Followers, favorites, reviewers, thanks to you all! Today is my birthday & you're all a big warm sunshiny gift for reading my work!**_


	36. Chapter 36: Hungry Like the Wolf

_**Past deeds come back to haunt the 'tin plated dictator with delusions of godhood.'**_

_**Warning: Character death & cute nicknames ahead.**_

* * *

_**36. Hungry like the Wolf**_

"Do you know how many times I've dreamt of this?" the madman asked, looking at the stoic man standing in front of him. "How many times I saw my glorious end?"

The women standing to either side of him, Gunn and Rota, shifted position, readying their swords as they watched the corpses of the murdered warriors at the tables in front of them start to stir.

"Anything I can do to _help_ you with that?" G said amiably, tamping down his urge to leap forward and pull Beth out of Blake's grip, knowing the Valkeries would cut him down before he got one step closer.

The self styled Allfather chuckled and placed a kiss on Beth's temple, the fingers of his left hand still absently combing through her hair, his right arm around her waist as he held her tightly on his lap. G gritted his teeth as he saw the tears slowly make their way down the girls' pale cheeks

"How much do you want for her?" Blake asked then, his voice sounding clear and shrewd, not dreamy and vague as it had with the previous question.

"Unfortunately _that_ one is not for sale." G said carefully, knowing that denying Blake was not what he had been sent here to do. Beth's eyes widened in panic—what was he doing?—this was her chance to perhaps get him alone, to use the weapon she had concealed on her, the garrote loosely sewn into the bottom seam of her blouse. A sound from behind him, metal hollow clanks, made Guillermo twitch but not turn.

Blake's eyes narrowed.

"Allfather?" the woman to his right said, her voice fighting for calm, but definitely on edge.

"_What_ Gunn?" Blake snapped, sitting up straight and dislodging Beth from his lap, shoving her hard so that she fell on the floor to the side of him. G did come forward then, skirting the table to go to the young woman, helping her to stand and moving her behind him protectively.

"They rise." she said, pointing at the newly dead all around them. Indeed all of the men he had murdered were now moving, some barely twitching, others beginning to stand.

_"Ahh, excellent." _Blake intoned and reached down beside his chair to lift a box up onto the table. "Watch Mimir, old friend, as our warriors make ready to face the wolf that hungers for my flesh!" And from the box he pulled a biter's head, Shumpert, and set it on the tray which had held the poisoned mead.

"Oh my god!" Beth gasped, and G reached back to take her hand.

"Indeed." Blake said, self-satisfied, smirking.

Bam! Bam! Bam! a loud knocking echoed through the hall coming from the double doors behind the newly risen walkers. The walkie at the waist of the Valkyrie to Blake's left came to life.

"This is Martinez, over?" Blake frowned; wondering why was his lieutenant not already here in the hall, scanning the room for any other missing men—realizing for the first time in addition to Caesar, that neither Sawyer nor Carson had come when summoned to this gathering. He grabbed the device and thumbed it on.

"You're late to the hall, _old friend_." he said dangerously.

"I come bearing gifts, sir. Some unfinished business...from _the prison_..." at that announcement Blake stood suddenly and put his mouth close to the walkie.

"Which one?"

"Loki _and_ his woman_._ Sawyer and I caught them trying to infiltrate-coming in with the herd, using captive biters as camo."

Blake held the walkie to his heart and began spinning in circles.

"It's true—it's true! It is the end time—it is Ragnarok!" he cried joyfully, "Go—unbar the gates so they may enter!" he told his women warriors. "Loki and Sigyn have escaped their torment in the cave below...and Fenrir comes..." he whispered, "The wolf that devours..." striding to the stand where his katana rested. The women looked at each other, then at G and Beth who had edged their way back towards the door behind the dais that led to the suites where Carol had been held.

Blake saw their hesitation, looked at the walkers between them and the front door past the mural scaffolding and laughed.

"They won't harm you, they're mine." he said heartily and strode down the central path, the barrier of the tables keeping him from the grasping hands of those he had poisoned. The women followed, Gunn hurrying so she was in front of him and Rota stayed at his back, guarding him.

_"Let's go."_ G whispered to Beth, pulling her back towards the other doors, but she fought him.

"No!" she whispered back vehemently, "They have Rick and Michonne!" Beth looked over at the katana stand, saw that a second smaller sword remained. She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and ran for it, reaching it just as one of the pseudo Viking dead came around the side of the table and lurched towards her. Pulling the razor sharp blade loose from the stand she swung it and sliced off its grasping hands. It kept coming at her and she scrambled backwards, trying to get enough distance between her and its body so she could maneuver the sword.

"Down!" G yelled and on instinct Beth crouched and felt a rush as something large flew over top of her. She heard a crash as the chair he had thrown hit the walker, knocking it down. Beth rolled, coming back up onto her feet and finding the walker's head with the point of the blade, punching through the eye into the brain. More of the dead noticed them, making their way around the tables even as others headed after Blake and the women.

_"Gotta go, bonita!"_ G told Beth, conflicted over staying to try to help the others and getting her to safety. She looked up at him, furious.

"_No_—get a weapon and _help_ me!" she ordered him, her determination amazing him. She went after the next closest biter, this time slicing clean through its neck, separating its head from its body and then punching through the ear.

"Shit." G muttered, scanning the area around him for something to use.

At the other end of the hall, the Valkyrie called Gunn unbolted the door and Sawyer, Martinez, Rick and Michonne came through, the latter two in handcuffs.

Blake stared at Michonne, transfixed.

"You've shorn your raven tresses, Sigyn, but I still know you, your _treachery."_ he walked over to Rick then, pointing up at the mural. "And your face, Loki—_your_ face I will never forget."

Rick and Michonne looked at the larger than life size paintings; their portraits prominently featured and then exchanged an unimpressed look.

"We negotiated in good faith, but you betrayed me_, brother."_ Blake said to Rick, his eyes blazing with insanity.

"Sir—" Martinez interrupted, _"Biters!"_ he yelled, pointing his pistol at the dead lumbering towards them from behind Blake and the women. Blake looked at him, his attention arrested by the man's mutilation, seeming dazed.

"Your hand..." Blake said, with great sympathy, "_Tyr_—you have already faced Fenrir for me?" he said and then moved to embrace Martinez, who fell back and raised his gun to his former boss in confusion. Blake's eyes narrowed as he looked back and forth between Rick and Caesar.

"You've turned him against me!" he screamed and came at Rick, raising his sword to deliver a killing blow, but Martinez dove in front of him, and the sword cut through his torso even as Martinez tried and failed to fire the gun he held and fell to the floor at Rick's feet. Blake's blade was lodged in his former lieutenant's body, almost cutting him in half, as the man convulsed in his death throes, blood gushing from his mouth. Martinez looked up at Rick, his eyes pleading, but it was Sawyer who stepped in and put a bullet in his brain, ending him.

"We never let our own turn." Sawyer intoned. Rick met the blonde man's eyes and nodded.

Both of the captives then let their already loose cuffs drop to the floor and trained their eyes on Blake.

"Now!" Rick yelled, and it served as a signal to the rest of the rescue team, who swarmed through the door. When the two Valkyries saw their comrades working with the others they abandoned Blake as well and he reached down swiftly and grabbed up Martinez's pistol and backed away from the group.

Carol and the duo of Tyreese and Daryl came to stand beside Michonne and Rick. The rest of the fighters arrayed themselves out in front of Blake, who seemed to falter as he recognized more of those who confronted him. He ran his hand over his face and the arrogance dropped away and instead he became the politician again.

"The truth is I didn't want any of this; they chose me because there wasn't anyone else around. They thought I was the one who could keep them safe." Blake pleaded in a low sincere sounding voice, using the same words he'd once said to Rick in explanation of why he'd been called _Governor_ by the citizens of a small refugee community. He looked at Carol, "Tell them Freya..._Rose_! I kept you _safe_!" he said desperately.

"Actually its Carol-Carol _Dixon_, you remember my husband? Daryl?"Carol said, her voice scathing, her katana held at the ready. Blake's mouth gaped. "The one you pitted against his brother in a fight to the death?"

"Th-that was the will of the people!" he said, realizing what a mistake he'd made underestimating gentle 'Rose.'

"You _killed_ them." Tyreese said, "All of those people in Woodbury who _chose_ you..."

"You forced us to kill our friends…our lovers…in the arena." Angel said, coming forward.

"You killed _Andrea_." Michonne said as Angel handed her katana to her.

"And _Merle_." Daryl said, and then looked down at Martinez's body. "Not gonna kill nobody else." he pronounced, looking over at Rick, silently asking for permission as he raised his bow to take aim.

Blake backed up, aiming the pistol at Rick.

"You do me, I do him." he threatened Daryl. Rick raised his hand to Daryl, motioning him to stop. Carol's hand grasped Michonne's arm, drawing her attention to what Rick had already noticed, what was happening behind the former Governor. His walker minions were surrounding him. When the first one reached him and grabbed at his coat, Blake at first smiled.

"My warrior brothers have come!" he said triumphantly, "I _am_ Valtamr, tamer of the dead!" and leveled the pistol at Rick's chest, but when the second walker latched onto his other arm and bit down, he screamed in confused agony, ordering it to stop, but the brainless creature ripped the flesh and sinew down to the bone, stripping the meat and going in for more. Finally Blake turned the pistol on his attacker, blowing its brains out. Then the first walker bit into his shoulder and he elbowed it in the face to dislodge it, whirled and pulled the trigger again, but nothing happened.

"I only put one bullet in Martinez's gun." Daryl said, lowering his bow, "Didn't trust the fucker." he shrugged, adding "Sorry, man," as he looked down at the dead man who lay between them and Blake. He had died saving Rick after all.

Blake was swarmed.

_"For the love of god!"_ He screamed as his minions tore chunks of flesh from his body, dragging him to the ground.

"I thought you _were_ a god..." said Michonne, sheathing her sword and crossing her arms in front of her.

Mel, standing next to Sawyer, watched as the Allfather struggled in vain to free himself. It wasn't exactly what the myths predicted at Ragnarok, that the giant wolf Fenrir, son of the trickster Loki would battle with and be the agent of his death, but he _was_ being devoured alive...

_"Please!"_ Blake gurgled, crimson stained spit bubbles punctuating his words, pleading, "_Kill me..."_

Carol looked up at Daryl, knowing his desire for retribution over Merle's death was staying his hand, but unwilling to see even this monster suffer so horribly she put her hand on his knee and looked into his eyes. Daryl let his mouth fall into a frown, but then he nodded at her and raised his bow, firing a bolt into Blake's remaining eye, fulfilling the promise he'd made to Andrea when she'd visited the prison so long ago.

All eyes turned from Blake to Daryl, Michonne's angry and accusing, her sword raised, but then they heard a voice that they recognized yelling from the back of the hall.

_"Oye pendejos!_ Little help would be _nice_!" G called loudly, and the group surged ahead, moving to take out the remainder of the biters that Blake had created. G was using a chair to hold off a walker while Beth came around behind it, neatly slicing through its head, cleaving it in two down through the neck.

"Good blade—sharp as shit!" she said brightly, grinning at him as the walker fell. He shook his head at her. She looked like the hero of a bubble gum "Kill Bill" remake, her pretty clothes splashed with blood and black gore. Gone was all trace of the frightened girl who'd been cowering on Blake's lap. While he appreciated the change—a fighter was what was called for at the moment—it also made him wonder how much of her earlier show of fear had been an act—or was _this_ the act?

"Beth!" called Carol, battling her way forward alongside Michonne, Angel and the other Valkyrie. Daryl and Tyreese, Rick and Sawyer came up the center, working to finish off the rest of the walkers. G was using his chair to herd two walkers towards the men's position.

"Carol!" the girl cried jubilantly, rushing towards her, failing to see the walker crawling along the floor under the table which slithered out in front of her, tripping her by grabbing her ankle. Beth screamed and tried to twist away as she fell, but the creature's grip was strong and she hit the ground hard, first her shoulder then head, her sword skittering away.

_"Noo!" _Carol screamed, knowing they were still too far away to help her. The walker raised its head, its jaws gaping wide over the meat of Beth's calf as she tried to turn so she could kick at its head with her other leg. A whirr and then solid _thunk _sounded then and the dead man pitched forward, releasing its grip on Beth's leg, landing heavily on her lower body, Daryl's buck knife handle protruding from the back of its head. Carol looked up and saw that from his higher position on Tyresse's back, Daryl had been able to see what was happening and had thrown the knife from the other side of the table with pinpoint accuracy. He had been out of bolts, Tyreese in the process of retrieving some from the dead, when Carol had screamed, drawing their attention.

"Carol!" Daryl yelled, looking over at Carol, "Is Beth ok?" Michonne reached her first; pushing the walker away, off Beth's body, checking to make sure its teeth hadn't pierced delicate skin. Carol arrived then, looking anxiously at the girl as well.

_"Bethie?"_ Carol said, pushing Beth's hair back and checking her head and neck then moving her hands over the girl's shoulders and frowning. "I think her shoulder may be dislocated."

"No bites." Michonne pronounced.

"Thank god." Carol said, nodding and taking Beth's hand. "I need you to help me with this." Carol told Michonne, and together they were able to pop the shoulder back into place and then immobilize it with long strips of cloth Michonne cut from the table cloth on the head table.

Beth moaned and opened her eyes, frowning when she saw Carol's worried face above her.

"It got me?" Beth asked softly, resigned.

"No, sweetie, Daryl got it first." Carol assured her. Michonne reached down and pulled Daryl's knife out of the walker's skull, cleaning it on the arm of its robe.

"Daryl saved me?" Beth asked, looking around, but not seeing him.

"Thanks." Carol said, smiling and taking the knife as Michonne handed it to her. "I got your knife, Pookie!" she called over to Daryl, who rolled his eyes at her. Tyreese's booming laugh rang out.

"Ain't you a _peach!"_ Daryl called back dryly.

"You know it, boo." Carol replied with a smirk.

"Did I get knocked out when my head hit the floor?" Beth asked, her forehead wrinkling in confusion as she looked up at Carol, wondering at her odd exchange with the usually quiet hunter. Carol grinned at her.

"If they keep up this romance novel _bull_shit I think I'll _join_ you in unconsciousness." Michonne drawled, shaking her head and looking at Carol with mock disgust.

"Hey! Don't be givin' my wife none a yer shit!" Daryl said and fired one of the retrieved bolts through the decapitated head sitting, appropriately enough, on the head table.

"That's the last of them." Daryl said with satisfaction as Rick came and knelt beside Beth.

"How you doin', honey?" Rick asked, taking Beth's hand in his.

"Don't_ you_ start!" Michonne said under her breath to Rick, but he ignored her. Guillermo met up Angel and they embraced in relief and then walked over to join the group gathered around Beth, which also included Sawyer, Mel and the other Valkeries.

"Is he really dead?" Beth asked Rick, looking into his eyes.

"He's dead—he won't ever hurt anyone again." Rick said reassuringly and the young woman nodded at him. G and Angel pushed through the group to get to Rick.

"What is it?" Rick asked him.

"Where's Felipe?" G asked, and then the others realized that the medic and the other Valkeries had not rejoined them after their mission to find Nell and her father.

"Shit!" Daryl said, looking down at Carol, who looked at her watch.

"Ten minutes give or take!" Carol said anxiously, moving to help Beth stand up, steadying her.

"All right folks, you heard her-" Rick said, looking to Sawyer, Mel and the Valkyrie women, "What's our fastest way out of here back to the parking garage?"

"Up to the roof and down the fire escape," Sawyer told them, pointing to the doors in the front of the room, leading to the suites where Carol had been held and corridor to the stairs leading to the roof, but found them locked.

"Startin' to get a little déjà vu here." Daryl yelled over to Rick and Carol, flashing on their nightmare exit from the CDC. "Don't got another grenade on ya somewhere, do ya, punkin?"

"Better." Carol said with a grin, "I've got Martinez's keys." She held them up triumphantly and ran to the door, the others moving aside to let her pass. Sawyer led everyone through and down the corridor. Michonne and Rick were the last to exit, making sure everyone was clear.

"G, Angel! _Vamanos_!" Rick called.

"I can't leave my brother!" Angel said, pulling on G's arm desperately.

"_Angelita_-no-_lo siento-_there's no time..." Guillermo told her.

"G-please!" she begged, "He _saved_ me!" she stood still, forcing him to stop as well. G looked at Rick, torn with indecision.

"All right," Rick said, nodding, "Let's go get him."

"No!" Michonne objected, "I'll go." She put her hand on Rick's arm, "Those kids need you." He tried to object, but she silenced him by grasping his shirt front and kissing him, her soft lips hard against his and then laughing softly, musing, "I get _back_, the beard has to go." She released him and pushed him towards the door. "Go!"

Dumbfounded, Rick watched her take off in the opposite direction with G and Angel.

* * *

_**AN (long one)**_

_**Thanks so much to everyone who read & reviewed the previous chapter—the Dixon wedding was a big hit! (And if you watch, in the S4 opener, Rick's platinum wedding band is featured prominently in many of the close ups of his hands!)**_

_**I decided that Martinez had to go out in a heroic way, and saving Rick was a perfect way for him to show Blake how completely he had turned against him. Tyr was a faithful warrior friend of Odin, who was the only one brave enough to stick his hand in the wolf Fenrir's mouth.**_

_**I'm not quite done with Martinez yet though...**_

_**Loki and his wife Sigyn were imprisoned by the gods after several betrayals, held in an underground prison tomb where poisonous venom from a snake dripped down, caught in a bowl by the woman, preventing it from dropping onto Loki's face. But every time it filled up she had to leave to empty it and the venom burned his face while she was gone. Pretty nasty. **_

_**I had a hard time deciding just exactly who should kill the Gov., but liked the idea that he should be eaten alive, just as Odin is supposed to be by the wolf Fenrir, and having his own betrayed men do it seemed fitting. I also wanted a little call back to Andrea and Daryl discovering the 'piñata' walker while searching for Sophia, this time with Carol asking him to put someone out of his misery, but doing it in such a way that it was a tribute to both Andrea and Merle.**_

_**I guess I'm a little conflicted about Beth at the moment—her non-reaction to her boyfriend's death was understandable I guess, especially after Jimmy & everyone else she'd lost, but it was still kind of creepy to me the way she glommed onto Daryl like that. No offense to Bethyl shippers, but it interferes with my Caryl feels...**_


	37. Chapter 37: Atonement

_**AN: Here you are my dears! Sorry it's been so long between chapters, but I got busy at work and distracted by the start S4, which prompted another one shot fic that insisted on being written and then forced me to add a second chapter to it! Stories can be so demanding & "Scooch" was quite pesky.**_

_**When last we left our heroes they had just defeated Blake and were fleeing Senoia, some still in jeopardy, some having lost their lives in the battle. This rather long chapter starts with one of the lost ending up in a familiar place...**_

* * *

_37. Atonement _

"Caesar Jesus Martinez, son of Maria Consuela and Fernando Juan Martinez of Nogales, Mexico, last known permanent residence, Macon, Georgia. Preceded in death by his wife Adrianna, son Pedro Juan and daughter Felina Maria," intoned an ironic sounding British accented male voice.

Martinez looked around him, unsure of what was happening. The last thing he remembered was the flash of Blake's sword as he swung it towards Grimes; knowing that if it connected, another good man's death would be on him-he'd led them there to face off with evil-it was his responsibility.

"Are we sure about this?" a calm female voice asked, "I'm still not clear about-"

"The scales tipped with his last choice," the Brit said reasonably. "Granted, the good just_ barely_ outweighing the-"

"Who the hell are you people? Where am I?" Martinez barked, interrupting. He was alone and surrounded by a heavy white mist. He turned in a circle, looking for the speakers. A well dressed dark haired blue eyed man and a young woman in a white dress came out of the fog bank and walked towards him.

"Just think about it, Caesar." The woman said gently. "What's the last thing you recall?"

"That's hardly fair, Paschar. It was pretty damn horrific for him-getting ginsued like that." The other man winced.

"_Azrael, I'm warning you!"_ the woman hissed, refusing to look at him, but sounding like a cat with its hackles up.

"Ginsued?" Martinez said, looking down at his torso and then running his hands up and down his sides...his _hands..._he held them both up to his face in wonder and then looked over at the woman.

"Now he's getting it." Azrael said with satisfaction.

"I was...I'm..." he looked over at the man, "Who _are_ you people?" he asked again.

"Not exactly..." Azrael said and he let his black silver tipped wings unfurl out and above his back.

"Show off." Paschar said with disgust, but unleashed hers as well, blindingly white and golden.

_"Holy shit."_ Martinez gaped at the feathery appendages.

"I suppose it would be, wouldn't it?" Azrael mused thoughtfully. "If we did have bodily functions, even our sh-"

"Enough!" Paschar rounded on him. "We have tasks to accomplish here." She came up to Martinez and touched him briefly on the forehead with her glowing right hand.

"We're not your guides here, Caesar. You'll meet up with _docents_ if you will. They don't lead you or push you or tell you what to do, but we may be able to advise you from time to time." Azrael told him.

"Where is _here_?" Martinez asked.

"Where, when, how, why-all of these _you_ choose from the moments that made up your life." Paschar said.

"Moments?" Martinez asked.

"Choices." Paschar replied. "Points of decision."

"When what you did set you on your path leading to your end."Azrael added_."Regrets."_

"I can change them?"

"You already have. That's not the point. You're here to understand _why_ you made the decisions you did and to see what the consequences were." Paschar told him. "_And then use that understanding to help others."_

"I don't ..." Martinez began, but then the fog slowly cleared and he saw that he was standing on the side of a road, the air brisk with a fall chill. Several vehicles including a Jeep, a big green military truck and a light color pick-up were parked haphazardly in front of him.

Martinez knew where he was.

"Is this hell?" he whispered in dread.

"Close as you can get; smell that sulfur?" the tall African American man leaning against the tail gate of the pickup said laconically.

"Shump?" Martinez leaned forward so he could make out the man's features.

"We shoulda shot him." Shumpert said sadly and then the scene shifted...

* * *

The dark haired man jogged across the field until he came into sight of the red painted and silver grain bins of an abandoned feed mill and store. He slowed to draw up his crossbow, taking out a walker feeding on a recent kill near an old brown car that sat with its driver's side door open like the maw of some metal behemoth, the smell of whiskey and blood wafting from its interior. The man continued on his way, slightly crouched, wary as he moved through the rows of bins and into the central courtyard area between the buildings.

"It's Dixon-the brother-the younger one..." Martinez said quietly, the one whose woman...

"Daryl," said a female voice he recognized. He turned and saw Andrea leaning against the side of one of the grain bins. She was wearing dark jeans and her feet were bare; her leather jacket with the collar of lamb's wool, the animal of sacrifice, was stained with fresh blood.

"Right." Martinez nodded, lowering his gaze from her. "Sup' Andrea?" She rolled her eyes at him at the familiarity.

"Did you know? What he did to Milton and me?" she said, her voice weary, drained of all emotion. Caesar shifted his feet uncomfortably. He hadn't known for sure, but he suspected. Before they'd left for the prison he could've gone down to the room he knew Blake had prepared for the Amazon, could've checked Mamet's lab to see if the milquetoast was there, but he hadn't.

"He tried to kill him you know...Milton turned the knife Phillip gave him to kill me around and tried to kill the beast with it, braver than you ever were, but he wasn't strong enough...crazy enough..."

"He's dead..._Blake_..." Martinez said, seeing it clearly even though it had happened after his own demise. Shit-what was this? He could see _everything._

"I know." Andrea said.

"They avenged you; your friends." Martinez said, in his mind's eye seeing Daryl fire the bolt that ended the malignant existence of the Governor.

"He needs you." Andrea said, nodding at Daryl.

"I know." Martinez sighed, looking at the brother of the man he used to call friend; Daryl, here reliving the worst day of his life, finding Merle turned.

"Don't fuck this up, Caesar." Andrea said emphatically, showing emotion for the first time. "I loved them both-Carol and Daryl-they were my family."

"Then why don't _you_-"

"Not _my _task." Andrea interrupted. "You have the knowledge he needs." She pushed her sweat drenched hair back off of her forehead with a bloody hand and started to back away.

"She survived." Martinez said suddenly. "The Amazon-Michonne-_shit-_she got them all out too before the building blew!" he said, amazed. He looked over at Andrea, who sighed and smiled. "You loved her." He said quietly, looking abashed.

"Just help Daryl." Andrea said stoically and disappeared around the side of the bin on which she'd been leaning.

Martinez started slowly forward, rounding the side of the building where they'd left Merle to turn. Daryl lay sprawled on the ground nearby, his bloody knife still in his hand, weeping.

"Sorry man." Martinez said, pitching his voice low, but loud enough to carry. Daryl sprung up onto a crouch, his knife at the ready.

"Come back to _gloat_, asshole?" He yelled, furious, blood in his eye. Caesar wondered if it would hurt when-and then heard the solid thunk as Daryl's thrown knife punched through his heart. He looked down at the knife, sighed and grabbed the handle with both hands to pull it out, offering it back to his attacker.

"What the _fuck_..." Daryl croaked.

"Already dead, _pendejo_," Martinez said with a shrug, motioning Daryl forward with a flick of his hand. "C'mon, we got places to be." The buildings were starting to blur, the bodies vanishing all around them.

_"Merle!"_ Daryl cried out as his brother's body faded.

"You came back and got him; he's buried at the prison." Martinez assured him. "Take this." He again proffered the buck knife. "You can use it to try to off me again later if you like." He grinned slyly. Daryl frowned in confusion, but stepped forward to retrieve the blade. As soon as his hand touched it the landscape around them finished shifting.

"What the..." Daryl staggered, dizzy and Martinez put a hand on the other man's shoulder to steady him. They looked around them and saw an expanse of sky blue water hemmed in by steep cliffs of grey stone.

"Do you know where you are?" Caesar asked and Daryl blinked against the bright sunlight glittering on the water but nodded yes. From behind them came the sound of women in conversation, laughing, having what fun there was to have as they washed the camp laundry. Both men turned and Daryl started towards them, calling out Carol's name, but stopped when none of the women seemed to notice him. He looked over at the Hispanic man.

"This is the fuckin' _Christmas Carol_ or somthin'?" he said astutely.

"Something like that."

"You the ghost of Christmas past?" Daryl asked.

"Ghost of _Carol_ past..." Martinez said, nodding at the woman herself.

"Guess that makes me Scrooge." Daryl said dryly.

"You've gone down the wrong path...I'm here to show you the way back."

"So I can't talk to her—warn her—help her _now?_" Daryl asked.

Martinez shook his head in negation.

"You're here to witness, not interfere. You were on your way to Atlanta to rescue your brother when this happened."

* * *

_Andrea picked up a dark shirt, soaked it in the quarry waters, laid it over her thigh and scrubbed it with a brush. _

_ "I do miss my Maytag." Carol said._

_ "I miss my Benz, my sat nav..." Andrea said._

_ "I miss my coffee maker with that gold drip filter and built in grinder, honey." Jacqui stood behind them, looking wistful._

_ "Computer...texting..." Amy lamented._

_ "I miss my vibrator." Andrea said with a touch of raunchy slyness. _

_ "Ohhhh!" Jacqui said knowingly._

_ "Oh gawd!" Amy chimed in, sounding embarrassed at her older sister's remark. A few seconds later, after looking back at her husband, chain smoking and leaning indolently on the tailgate of the Cherokee, Carol dipped her head and said distinctly, into the fading laughter, _

_ "Me too."_

_The women erupted into such mirth at her quiet declaration that tears were running down their faces._

Daryl snorted-that was a tiny glimmer of the Carol he knew-ready to take the piss out of anyone or anything she thought deserved it. He looked at this earlier version of her, dressed in drab tans, hair so short he could see the shape of her skull, her figure more full, rounded from her more sedentary life before the Turn. She looked guardedly happy, as if she was unused to the camaraderie of other women.

_ "What's so funny?" came a deep insolent voice breaking over the laughter. Ed Peletier sauntered over; drawn by the idea his wife might be having a good time without him, perhaps suspecting, rightly, he'd been the source of their amusement._

_ "Just swappin' war stories, Ed." Andrea said easily, but the man prowled closer, looking suspiciously at the women who had grown silent at his approach. _

_ "Problem, Ed?" Andrea asked, looking back over her shoulder at him._

_ "Nothin' that concerns you." Ed said, flicking the ash off of his cigarette, "You oughta focus on yer work. This ain't no comedy club." Amy gave Andrea a warning glance. Tired of the hole the man was staring in her back, Andrea stood and turned to confront Carol's husband._

_ "Ed, tell you what, you don't like how your laundry is done you are welcome to pitch in and do it yourself, here!" and she tossed it at him. He slapped it right back at her, hard, hitting her in the face with it. Andrea squealed in outrage._

_ "Ain't my job, Missy." Ed said insolently, taking a drag on his cig._

_ "Andrea, don't." Amy cautioned, standing beside her sister._

_ "What is your job, Ed? Sitting in your ass smoking cigarettes?" Andrea pushed, ignoring Amy's plea, getting in Ed's face._

_ "Sure as hell ain't listenin' to some uppity smart mouth bitch, tell you what. C'mon! Les' go!" he ordered Carol, who stood and turned to go with him._

_ "I don't think she needs to go anywhere with you, Ed." Andrea protested. _

The look on Carol's face was devastating, so hopeless it made Daryl sick to his stomach to watch. He knew that look; had worn that look most of his childhood.

_ "And I say it's none a yer business. Come on now, you heard me." Carol stood and moved towards Ed. _

_ "Carol?" Andrea stopped her._

_ "Andrea please, it doesn't matter," Carol said in a whisper soft mousey voice._

_ "Hey! Don't think I won't knock you on yer ass just cos yer some college educated cooze. Ah'right?" Ed blustered menacingly at Andrea, who had interposed herself between Ed and his wife._

_ "Now you come on now, or you gonna regret it later." Ed said, pointing at Carol, his temper building._

_ "So she can show up with fresh bruises later, Ed?" Jacqui said with disgust."Yeah, we've seen them." Ed just laughed at the woman's accusations._

_ "Stay out of it!" he said to the African American woman, "Now come on!" he yelled at Carol, who stood behind both Andrea and Jacqui now, somewhat reluctantly accepting their protection. "You know what? This ain't none a y'all's business." He puffed up bigger, nostrils flaring, "Y'all don't keep proddin' the bull! OK? Now I am __done__ talkin'! C'mon!" he reached through the women and grabbed Carol's arm, but Andrea protested, taking Carol's arm as well and they fought for control._

_ "No—Carol you don't have to!" Jacqui said._

_ "No Carol, don't..." Amy cried, while Ed continued to drag a terrified looking Carol forward while the women tried to stop him by hanging onto Carol, hitting Ed with the wet laundry and their hands._

_**"You don't tell me what, I tell **__**you**__** what**__!" Ed bellowed at Carol and then slapped her full across the face, hard._

_ "You asshole!" Andrea screamed furiously, and it became a full out melee, the women pulling Carol away from Ed and pushing her behind them as they continued to fight him off and he insisted that Carol come with him._

Daryl hands clenched in impotent rage as he watched the unfolding scene play out to its conclusion, Shane appearing and dragging Ed away to give him a horrific beating; the only thing good to come out of the encounter. He looked on in dismay as Carol went to her abuser's side, weeping and calling his name.

"Listen closely now." Martinez said as the light faded to almost pitch black.

They were alone, together, in the storm cellar, he and Carol. Daryl vividly remembered this moment.

_Daryl couldn't believe she was letting him do this—__wanting__ his touch at her most intimate places, leaving herself vulnerable to him like this. He wouldn't betray that trust—he would do his best to make her happy, even if that meant some humiliation at his lack of skill..._

_ "Never... I never... done __this__ neither—__**you need to tell me what**__..." he admitted quietly, haltingly._

_ "Just touch me-like you've been doing..." she told him, and he followed her lead, gently loving her, changing them both forever._

"She couldn't have found any man more different than her first husband, could she?" Martinez said quietly. Daryl's head came up, angry that the other man was intruding on the intimate moment, but they were no longer in the cellar. Instead they were in a hallway alcove he didn't recognize.

"So why don't you trust her, Daryl?" Caesar asked, sounding mildly curious.

"What?" Daryl asked, feeling a bit dizzy from the quick changes of locale.

"She told you that nothing happened in Senoia; I just wonder why you don't believe her. What did she do that made you suspect she was lying to you?"

"Didn't_ do_ anything—_saw_ her bruises...know what kind of shit went down here." He said stubbornly, but his eyes were shifty, he refused to meet the other man's gaze.

The scene shifted, to the prison, shortly after the group had returned from Senoia.

_Dr. Stevens had insisted on doing thorough exams on all of the people returning from the mission. Maggie had been in the room when Dr. S had examined Carol's injuries after Daryl had made sure she was first in line to be seen. Telling Carol she'd be right back, Stevens had taken Maggie aside and they'd left the room to stand in the corridor. _

_ "I need you to go to the lock box in my office and get the packets labeled Plan B-One Step..."_

_ "The morning after pill?" Maggie said, shocked. She recognized the name from her and Glenn's pharmacy run for Lori back at the farm._

_ "I'm afraid we may have several women who were assaulted...it's only fair we give them that option since we have it. Any pregnancy is a risk in this new world, but to have to bear your rapist's child would be a nightmare." Maggie nodded in agreement and taking the keys, headed for the Dr.'s office._

_Unseen by them, Daryl had been hovering around the corner, waiting for Carol. Overhearing the quiet conversation between the women, his hands went numb and he fell back against the wall, his balance on his crutches shot to hell. Carol had told him nothing like that had happened to her-why would she need-was she still trying to protect him from knowing how badly he'd failed her? _

_When Maggie returned, Daryl was gone. _

* * *

"So you believe she _asked_ for that medication?" Martinez asked as their surroundings faded and returned to the hotel hallway. Daryl stared straight ahead, stone faced.

"She lied to me... instead of tellin' me what'd really happened; she _ended_ it... when she took that pill Stevens gave her." Daryl said quietly, with great pain in his voice, "Coulda...coulda been _mine _much as any of them ones who'd..." he choked up, unable to say the words.

"Anyone who'd _raped _her at Blake's compound." Martinez finished for him, nodding in understanding. It wasn't just guilt Dixon felt, it was anger, betrayal.

"And if she's telling the truth? That nothing happened? Then it's worse isn't it? Because then it's just _your _child she didn't want." Martinez said, finally understanding what it was to be a devil's advocate.

Daryl looked stunned. He'd _never _thought that...he knew she wouldn't do that...she'd told him she wished she could give him a child...had he been wrong? Maybe the pills were for some other reason? For some other woman? He'd gone off without waiting for an explanation, without ever asking her what had happened, assuming the worst. Hell, that was the Dixon way, wasn't it? Always assume the worst so you won't be surprised when the universe kicks you in the teeth.

"Then _show_ me what happened with Doc Stevens." Daryl ordered, waiting for the scene to shift, for the players to appear.

Martinez looked Daryl up and down consideringly and then he shrugged and shook his head from side to side, frowning.

"No."

"What?—fuckin' _show_ me!" Daryl yelled.

"You familiar with the concept of faith_, ese_?" Martinez asked. "_Faith_ requires no proof."

Daryl looked dumbstruck. _He had to have faith in her.._.it couldn't be that simple, could it? He loved her, believed in her, would trust her with his life...why was this one question so hard? Why had it kept them apart for the last month and a half? He leaned his shoulders against the wall behind him, his breath coming in gasps.

He trusted her more than anyone else he'd ever known; he should believe that what she told him was the _truth._ He felt an overwhelming wave of relief wash over him.

Martinez nodded approvingly at him, but Daryl's guilt still weighed heavily.

"It was still _my_ fault..." he looked over at his former adversary, "my fault she was taken."

"No. It wasn't. There was nothing else you could've done and still all gotten out of there alive."

_The scene on the road played out, once, twice, three times, each slightly different. The first went down as it had that day, Blake's minions driving away with Carol and Daryl losing his mind; in the second he chased after the vehicle with his crossbow and the snipers killed Miguel and Gus, leaving Daryl alone, devastated; the third time he broke away and made it to Carol and the big tattooed man slit her throat and let her bleed out as Daryl howled in agony, the bald man's minions holding Daryl down, forcing him to watch her reanimate._

"_Stop...please, for the love of god..." _Daryl moaned, doubling over in grief, tasting vomit in the back of his throat, the room spinning around him.

"Take it easy." Martinez said quietly.

"How..." Daryl said, putting his hand to his head, "How can you _know_ that?" He staggered slightly and again Martinez reached out to steady him.

"Omniscience of the grateful dead." Martinez said, smiling slightly. "Something we get for working here."

"Where the fuck _is _here?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Martinez asked him.

Daryl shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

"Don' know..."

"You're sick, Daryl." Caesar told him, "You have pneumonia and are in a coma in the prison infirmary."

"Sick?" Daryl felt heavy; he was having a hard time staying upright. He slowly slid to the floor.

"Needed time to work this all out here." Martinez told him, kneeling beside him.

"Where th' fuck's _here_?" Daryl repeated with slightly different emphasis, slurring his words, his eyes drifting shut.

Martinez looked up, at a spot high above Daryl's head.

"What do I tell him?" he asked the two winged beings floating there.

"Tell him something good; something that will tether him to his world...help him make the right choices." Paschar advised.

"Sentimental clap trap." The angel of death snorted from beside her. Paschar rounded on him; glowing so brightly that Martinez had to shield his eyes. Her voice was stentorian, too powerful for human ears.

"You've taken _enough_ of them from that place this time, Azrael! I'm sick of them all losing the ones they care about to the Horsemen." And she thundered up at the sky above them, "That goes for _you_ too! You hear me Bob? _This one universe, this one time, these two-this good man and the good woman he loves get to be happy!"_

Paschar's glow faded and she resumed her guise of a lovely young winged woman. Azrael had vanished. She nodded benignly at Martinez.

"Go ahead Caesar." She instructed him. Martinez put his hand on Daryl's shoulder, leaning close to his ear and whispered,

"No guilt, Daryl. She's safe, you're safe. Your son is safe."

At that Daryl's form faded and then vanished, leaving Martinez alone with the angel.

"You've done well, Caesar." She congratulated him, touching his shoulder. Martinez blinked at the flash of light and when he opened his eyes again they were on the shore of a mangrove swamp.

The walker who had been a man named Jim sat in his boat at the dock. When he saw the angel appear with yet another passenger he sighed and picked up his oars. Paschar led Martinez forward.

"Hello Jim." She said pleasantly.

"Miz P." he nodded, glancing up at the man next to her and then looking quickly back down, shy with the beautiful angelic being.

"Jim, this is Caesar. He's here to row you to the western shore." She said gently. Jim's head snapped up in confusion and Caesar raised an eyebrow at her.

"I...I uh...I don't understand..." Jim said haltingly, too stunned to be afraid of looking her in the eye. "I can be with them...be with my family?"

"Your atonement is complete, Jim." Paschar nodded and smiled at him, "Caesar's is just beginning." She looked sternly at Martinez and he took a deep breath and nodded, understanding, watching the look of pure joy break over the now _former _ferryman's face.

* * *

_**I hope this chapter does justice to my conflicted feelings about Martinez. I always felt like he was originally good man who'd fallen in with the wrong leader and once he had committed, felt honor bound to remain loyal. He did some terrible things, but when he decided to shield Carol and then gave his life for Rick, that earned him a chance at redemption here in Purgatory.**_

_**In the chronology of this story, the next chapter actually takes place, before, during and after Daryl's time in Limbo, but trying to inter-cut the two proved too unwieldy and long, so I separated them (another reason it took me so long to get this one posted, LOL!).**_

_**Thank you to all favorites and followers! Let me know what you think in reviews, please.**_


	38. 38: The Adventures of Huckleberry Dixon

_**So now we find out what was happening at the Prison before, during and after Daryl's time with Martinez in Limbo. Actually, in order, we start 5 months **__**after**__** Senoia, and then jump back to the day after they defeated Valtamr, when they return to the prison and then it goes forward from there.**_

_**This one is the longest chapter I've written. I just couldn't find the right place to break it; it all seemed to flow in the same narrative stream, so I left it alone.**_

_**Trigger warning: references to sexual assault **_

_**Also some pretty hot very consensual smut ahead.**_

* * *

_38. The Adventures of Huckleberry Dixon_

"We can't do this every night."

"Why not?"

"I need my sleep, Daryl—so do you!"

"Just one more?"

"You are incorrigible..."

"Go on now." he urged her, nudging her elbow.

Carol turned the page and sighed at his obstinacy. She sat on their bed with her back against the wall and he laid stretched out perpendicular to her, his head cradled in her lap, looking up at her as she read to him, their own little story time. His mild dyslexia made reading harder for him, something he'd worked to overcome with books on tape and graphic novels, but he also just enjoyed hearing her soothing voice as she interpreted the narrative for him, so she read:

_Then there was a dispute about who saw the dead boys last in life, and many claimed that dismal distinction, and offered evidences, more or less tampered with by the witness. One poor chap, who had no other grandeur to offer, said with tolerably manifest pride in the remembrance: _

_"Well, Tom Sawyer he licked me once." _

_But that bid for glory was a failure. Most of the boys could say that, and so that cheapened the distinction too much. The group loitered away, still recalling memories of the lost heroes, in awed voices. _

_The villagers began to gather, loitering a moment in the vestibule to converse in whispers about the sad event. But there was no whispering in the house; only the funereal rustling of dresses as the women gathered to their seats disturbed the silence there. None could remember when the little church had been so full before._ _There was another communing silence, broken at intervals by muffled sobs, and then the minister spread his hands abroad and prayed._ _The congregation became more and more moved, as the pathetic tale went on, till at last the whole company broke down and joined the weeping mourners in a chorus of anguished sobs, the preacher himself giving way to his feelings, and crying in the pulpit._

_There was a rustle in the gallery, which nobody noticed; a moment later the church door creaked; the minister raised his streaming eyes above his handkerchief, and stood transfixed! _

_First one and then another pair of eyes followed the minister's, and then almost with one impulse the congregation rose and stared while the three dead boys came marching up the aisle, Tom in the lead, Joe next, and Huck, a ruin of drooping rags, sneaking sheepishly in the rear! They had been hid in the unused gallery listening to their own funeral sermon! _

_Aunt Polly, Mary, and the Harpers threw themselves upon their restored ones, smothered them with kisses and poured out thanksgivings, while poor Huck stood abashed and uncomfortable, not knowing exactly what to do or where to hide from so many unwelcoming eyes. He wavered, and started to slink away, but Tom seized him and said: _

_"Aunt Polly, it ain't fair. Somebody's got to be glad to see Huck." _

_"And so they shall. __I'm__ glad to see him, poor motherless thing!" And the loving attentions Aunt Polly lavished upon him were the one thing capable of making him more uncomfortable than he was before._

"Could be interestin' to spy on yer own funeral—see what people really thought of ya." Daryl mused. Carol huffed out a breath. She'd come a little too close to that reality herself...had seen the grave with the home made cross, her initial and the flower he'd left there in her memory, a silent epitaph.

Daryl looked up at her and saw her discomfort and changed the subject. Propping himself up on his elbow and leaning slightly to the side he pulled up her t shirt and pressed a kiss to her rounded belly. From the floor next to the bed Gus whimpered and flippered his feet in his sleep, chasing dream rabbits or tennis balls that never stopped even when the arm throwing them got tired.

"Huckleberry's a good name, ain't it? For a boy?" he grinned.

_"Huckleberry Dixon?"_ she snorted, bopping him on the head with the book.

"Can call 'im Huck!" Daryl defended, liking the idea more and more, smoothing his hand over her baby bump and staring at it. The sonogram they'd had today had confirmed that it was a boy and healthy. Carol was doing well, though the doctors all wanted her to gain a bit more weight. Everything she ate seemed to go straight to the baby.

"You want to name our son after a scoundrel, a _bribón_?" Carol asked, raising an eyebrow at Daryl, realizing that he actually had a lot on common with the two young heroes of Mark Twain's story, Masters Sawyer and Finn.

"He'll be a Dixon," Daryl snorted, "Comes from a long line of scoundrels..." Carol set the book down and covered his hand with her own. He looked up at her and she used her other hand to push his bangs to the side so she could see his eyes.

"You need a haircut." she told him assessingly, "Make _you_ look like less of a one." she smiled at his sour look. He liked his long shaggy hair. As a kid after his mother had died he and Merle's father had held them down and shaved their heads twice a year so he wouldn't have to mess with washing and combing it or paying for more haircuts. It wasn't until their father's diabetes damaged and then took his lower legs so that he couldn't catch them anymore that the tradition had stopped.

Nobody was gonna treat Carol and _his_ kid like that.

_Carol his and kid._

And he'd almost completely fucked it up. Had almost lost her—had almost lost both of them because of his fears. With her help, he wasn't going to make the same mistakes again.

* * *

They'd gotten back from Senoia five months ago, bringing roughly half of the survivors from Blake's twisted little empire with them; the rest had stayed with the Vatos: G, Angel and Felipe in Senoia. The exception had been Miguel, who had decided to return to the prison, which Carol speculated had much to do with his admiration of a certain young kick ass blonde, last name of Green and slightly less, a small black and tan dog.

Dr. Stevens had insisted on doing thorough exams on all of the people returning from the mission. Maggie had been in the room when Dr. S had examined Carol's injuries after Daryl had made sure she was first in line to be seen.

The former Woodbury physician quietly offered Carol the 'morning after' pill after the gynecological exam and Maggie moved to hold her friend's hand.

"I _wasn't_ raped, Yvonne." Carol said evenly. Stevens raised an eyebrow, challenging her.

"Carol, you have bruising..._hand_ shaped bruises on your body and evidence of trauma to-"

"I wasn't _raped_."Carol repeated, pulling her hand from Maggie's and twisting her wedding ring around on her finger.

Stevens looked her in the eyes, silently challenging her.

"I would tell you if I had been." Carol said, "I lied about it for too many years during my marriage." Her laser blue gaze seared both women.

"Well, then do I need to have a talk with that big manly husband of yours and tell him to go a little easier?" she said seriously, relaxing a bit and pulling off her gloves.

"Daryl would _never_ hurt me, Yvonne. We just...got a little carried away is all...and he _is_ very big and uh...manly and ...um.._.enthusiastic_..." Carol's cheeks pinkened, remembering the passionate encounters she and Daryl had shared in the storm cellar and especially the shower. If anything she'd urged him on...

"_Way_ too much information..." Maggie sighed, wondering how long it would take until she could look Daryl in the eye again after this.

"Neither you or your man are in any shape to be doin' _anything_ enthusiastically for at least a week, honey." Stevens advised, looking over the bruises and cuts on Carol's face and body once again and frowning.

"But it's her honeymoon!" Maggie cried. She'd been overjoyed when she'd learned that the two of them had finally gotten together, and had thought their unusual elopement was quite romantic when Michonne had recounted it to them.

"I'm sorry about that, but it's hands off for the time being." Stevens pronounced. "You need to give your body a chance to heal. Bed rest and no work shifts for at least a week. And send Dixon in here next so I can explain it to _him_ in words he'll understand."

* * *

That night as they prepared for bed Carol was dismayed to see Daryl awkwardly hobbling about pulling the mattress off of the top bunk and grabbing his poncho to make up a nest for himself on the floor of her room. Miguel was taking care of Gus for the time being, since neither of them was in any shape to get up with the pup in the middle of the night if he needed to go outside.

"I don't think Yvonne meant that we can't share a bed." Carol said softly, frowning at him.

"Tween this cast on my leg an' yer...bruises..." he mumbled, not looking at her. "I don't wanna hurt you."

Carol looked at him like he had lost his mind.

"_Daryl..._" she said, moving to block him from taking the extra pillow off of the bottom bunk, and they had a brief, ridiculous tug of war over it until he gave up and released it to her.

"Fine—don't need one any way." he grumbled, using the chair to help lower himself to the floor onto the thin mattress he'd placed there, setting his crutches within easy reach. He settled into the make shift bed, tugging the colorful blanket he used as a garment up over his shoulders and turning onto his side, facing away from her.

Carol just stood there, clutching the pillow to her in disbelief. This was all her fears about him reverting to type when they got back to the prison sprung to full life. She fought it, but couldn't stop the tears from coming; she was too tired, too sore, and too sad. She sniffed, stifling a sob and burying her face in the pillow to mask her distress from him.

Daryl heard her little hitches of breath; knew what it meant, couldn't stand the thought that he was the cause of it. He rolled back over and slitted his eyes open so he could see her. Carol's face was buried in the pillow, her shoulders shaking.

_"Shit."_ he bit out, sighing heavily. Carol lowered the pillow just enough so she could see him. "C'mon then." he said quietly and he held up the poncho at his back.

"What?" she said stubbornly, glaring at him.

"Get in. Not gonna ask ya again." Daryl warned. She huffed out a breath but went to him, bringing the lantern from the nightstand and her pillow with her, and slid in behind him, setting the lamp on the floor next to them and lowering the light to nothing. He let the cover fall back over them both in the darkness.

Carol lay there, not touching him, feeling his body heat radiate out like a blazing campfire. She wanted to hold her hands to the flames, but she was afraid to reach out, not understanding his mood. His right hand snaked back and found hers and pulled her arm around his torso, forcing her closer, her body flush to his back, but holding her hand still when she tried to turn the touch into a caress.

_"Daryl?"_ she asked, resting her cheek on the demons climbing his shoulder.

"Sleep." he commanded.

_"Kiss me goodnight?"_ she pleaded, her voice shaking with need.

Daryl groaned. That led down the path he'd been fighting, resisting with everything in him. He'd taken the doctor's admonitions about waiting on sex to heart, believing it wasn't only physical healing that Carol had to do before she'd be ready to rejoin that part of their relationship. He felt her soft mouth press a kiss to his shoulder, then another fell in the hollow of his neck as she moved over him.

"Carol—_can't_—you heard what the doc said." he protested in a sigh as she pushed his hair back and flicked out her soft wet hot tongue over that sensitive spot right behind his ear, making him shiver.

"_Just kisses..."_ she cajoled, "_some good old fashioned necking..."_ and she nipped his ear lobe.

"Never got why they call kissin' _neckin'_..." he mumbled, stretching his head back to find her lips. Carol instead lowered her head and kissed the hollow at the base of his neck and then licked a slow path up its strong column from his collar bone to his ear, pushing his hair behind it again so she could swirl her tongue delicately around the shell and then suck the lobe inside her mouth.

_"Damn."_ Daryl moaned and turned his face; defeated, letting his lips meet hers. He was drowning in her, needing her so much he was shaking with it. He shifted his body to face her and moved his hands up to cup her face, but she cried out in involuntary pain when his fingers moved over her bruised cheekbone and chin. He released her immediately and gave a sad frustrated grunt, putting at least a foot of space between them.

"Daryl-it's ok...I..." Carol began, reaching out to him.

_"It ain't."_ he said softly. "You're hurt, honey, an' I don't wanna hurt you anymore. Had a goodnight kiss-now let's try to get some sleep." He said definitively. He watched one fat tear fill her right eye and spill over, running down her cheek as she nodded mutely and dropped her hand. She turned away, rolling on her side, putting her back to him.

Feeling all kinds of shitty he lay down on his back, staring at the ugly concrete ceiling above them, listening to the sounds of the prison around them, bits of muted conversations, Gus yipping in the yard being shushed by Miguel, Beth giggling. He turned his head to look over at Carol, her back hunched under the covers, the back of her head on the pillow.

His main emotion was guilt. The guilt he felt because he hadn't been able to stop what had happened to her kept his hands at his sides, kept them from reaching out for her again... He knew she didn't understand, knew he was hurting her, but he was also angry. She'd hurt him too. She'd lied to him...and instead of telling him what had really happened she'd made the choice to take away the possibility of a child when she'd taken the pill that Stevens had given her. He was painfully aware that it could've been _his_ child as much as anyone who'd... who'd _raped _her at Blake's compound.

* * *

After that first night a chill settled into their relationship, a cold gap that neither of them could figure out how to bridge. During the day they were cordial, their friendship looked to most others much like it had been before Senoia, respectful and seemingly close, but there was an underlying awkwardness to their interactions that only those closest to them would notice.

When the Doctor's week long moratorium on them being together came and passed with no thaw, Daryl found himself lingering in the mess hall in the evenings, playing chess with Hershel or talking comics with Carl, Michonne and Glenn; brooding as he watched the courtship of Tyreese and Karen, still in that first blush when everything about the other person was ideal, no deep dark hidden lies or fears keeping them apart. He'd stay away until he knew Carol had already gone to bed, tired of waiting up for him.

This went on for almost a month, worsening after Daryl's cast had come off because he celebrated his new mobility by going out on several multiple day long hunts, always returning with game. He worried every time he came back that he would find his things piled out in the hallway in front of her cell; that she would've finally reached her breaking point with him.

* * *

"What's _wrong_ with you?" Maggie rounded on Daryl, who was sitting alone in the mess, still wearing his dirty, bloody clothes from his latest hunting expedition, a bottle of bourbon and a full shot glass in front of him. It was late and she'd come looking for Glenn, who had met her halfway between their cell and the dining area, telling her that Daryl was in as foul a mood as he'd seen him since the days at the quarry. Worried for Carol, Maggie had gone to confront him.

"Don't know what ya mean." Daryl muttered, grimacing and coughing as he swallowed another shot.

"You're _hurting_ her, Daryl." Maggie said, frowning, her eyes going soft with concern.

"I know." He said, monotone, pouring another shot, taking it like medicine and automatically pouring another.

"Then _stop_!" she said, marching over to him and grabbing the shot glass off of the table, downing it and then flipping the glass over and slamming it down hard on the table top. "You married her, Daryl-doesn't that _mean _anything to you?"

"He had you too, Maggie—you _know..._you know what they did to women...what Angel and the others told us!" Daryl said savagely, just drunk enough to let loose his fears to someone. He'd imagined Rick as the other party in this discussion if he ever had it, but supposed it made sense that it was Maggie, the one person who could truly understand what Carol might be dealing with.

"You think she was raped." Maggie said flatly. "And you think she kept it from you." This was sounding all too familiar to her. "And so now you're afraid to touch her? Afraid that you'll hurt her?"

Daryl ducked his head, embarrassed, but nodded yes. _Fuck,_ did women talk about everything?

"Do you see her as damaged goods?" Maggie asked, pushing him.

"Maggie-Jesus, I'd never! Knowing what...because of..." he said, faltering, not wanting to betray Carol's trust.

"Because of what her husband did to her." Maggie said softly. That had been one of the late night conversations between Lori and Carol that Maggie had overheard which had made her weep and hold on tight to Glenn in their bed. During her captivity in Woodbury, even though at the time both she and Glenn had believed Carol dead in the Tombs, just knowing that someone like Carol had survived what she'd been subjected to by the sick monster she'd been married to was one of the things that had kept her going during the Governor's sadistic interrogation.

"And then she had to endure what _they _did to her because I couldn't stop them from taking her!" Daryl said, the guilt flowing from him in waves.

"She told us that Martinez protected her."Maggie said pointedly. "_Nothing_ happened."

"You saw her face—the bruises—she was _beaten_, Maggie...she fought against something they did to her..." Daryl said, "She wouldn't want me to know...to see how completely I failed her."

"You're wrong, Daryl. And I just hope you realize it before you hurt her too much this time for her to forgive you again." Maggie told him, her anger building.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"When you went off with Merle she was devastated Daryl. She put on a brave face when you came back, but I was there—I saw her panic when you weren't in the car—the look on her face when Rick told her. He had to hold her up to keep her from collapsing. Rick told me she just kept asking _"He's gone?"_ like it wouldn't compute, like her mind couldn't accept it."

"She said she understood." Daryl protested, because she had. She'd known he couldn't leave Merle behind again.

"That doesn't mean she was happy about you abandoning us...abandoning _her._" Maggie thrust her chin out, _"Don't do it again."_ she said strongly, and turned on her heel, leaving the room.

* * *

The next day Daryl heard Carol laughing. He hadn't heard her laugh like that for such a long time, he thought painfully, knowing it was his fault. He didn't have the ability to face their problems head on; didn't have the words; was too afraid that if he tried and failed, he would finally lose her irrevocably instead of by the slow degrees he could sense was happening already.

It was mid morning when Daryl came out of the door to the prison yard, looking for Rick to check in with him about a possible trade trip back to Senoia, where G's group was working to clear new safe space after the herd had moved on.

Still hidden by the steel mesh cage, he saw Rick, seated on the top of a picnic table, a wildly flowered sheet or table cloth pinned around his neck, covering his body, laughing and talking with Carol, who was using a small pair of scissors to trim back his graying beard.

"Are you sure about this?" Carol said, holding Rick's chin and looking askance at him. "It does give you an air of grizzled authority." she kidded. Rick grinned and then ducked his eyes, smiling more shyly.

"I'm told it scratches." he said in an embarrassed but easy voice. He was comfortable with Carol, enjoyed her company, trusted her with his secrets, and it showed.

Carol looked at him assessingly, ran her hand up his jaw line and frowned.

"Not particularly." she told him. She sighed and thought of Daryl's whiskers, how much she loved the soft bristle scratch of them on her cheek, her neck, her...

"No offense, but your hands are used to hard work—the places I'm told it scratches are a bit more...uh...delicate..." Rick murmured the last, ducking his head. Nodding, Carol smiled and leaned closer, tilting his head back up and experimentally brushing her cheek against his and then she nodded and placed a light kiss to the same spot.

Daryl flushed hot, confused—what the hell was that all about?

Carol leaned closed and whispered something in Rick's ear, and he blushed scarlet. Carol laughed again, her gentle mirth cutting through Daryl as if she'd taken her small sharp knife and plunged it into his chest. He choked off his impulse to call out one or both of their names, to let them know he was approaching, and instead turned back the way he had come, letting the heavy metal door slam behind him with a loud clang.

Carol and Rick's heads came up at the sound and she released his face, turned and took a step towards the door, but stopped when she saw no one.

"Nobody there." Carol said, shrugging, turning back to Rick and raising her scissors to continue.

"How long are you going to let him get away with this?" Rick asked gently, grasping her hands to still them. Carol pursed her lips and frowned at her friend. She'd been enjoying their easy camaraderie and didn't want to spoil it with talking about things over which she had no control.

"Daryl has his code. He thinks he couldn't protect me. He has to work through it in his own way." she said quietly. She'd been giving him all the time and space she could handle. They still slept in the same bed, but he usually came to it after she was asleep and left before she woke. The only evidence he had been there was the rumpled covers and his scent of leather, motor oil and the crisp tang of wood smoke if he'd been on watch at the fences. When she woke, alone, she'd gather his pillow to her and slide to his side of the bed, enveloping herself in his faint presence.

"He loves you." Rick said with assurance. He saw how the tracker's eyes followed her in much the same way they used to before Senoia—with longing and puzzlement, as if she was some unattainable treasure, lost to him because he didn't have the key that would let him map her geography.

"I know." Carol said with a rueful sigh, pulling her hands from his. Rick raised his brows, expectantly waiting for the rest. Carol smiled at him. "I love him too...but it isn't always easy..."

"Nothing worth having ever is." Rick said solemnly, and Carol saw the shadow of painful remembrance, of chances lost to stubbornness and neglect, to misunderstandings and pride, pass over his face. She tightened her grip on his hands and then released them. He held onto her left and raised it, touching the ring she wore there.

"She's always with us." Carol said softly, and Rick bobbed his head up and down several times and then took a deep sniffling breath through his nose and blew it out through his mouth, trying to stay in control.

"Yeah." Rick sighed. He saw her every time he looked at his son, at his baby daughter.

"Lori would want you to find someone..." Carol told him, and he let go of her hand and nodded again.

"Not sure what she'd make of Michonne, though." Rick said, chuckling and leaning back, running his hands over his face.

'I think she'd appreciate the fact that she's so strong and how much your children like her. Kids know good people." Carol told him, starting back to her work.

"Carl's the one who trusted her first, brought her into the fold."

"And she saved Andrea." Carol added. That had been all the endorsement Carol had needed to accept the warrior woman. Rick nodded in agreement; remembering how broken up Michonne had been over Andrea's death.

"Took her a bit to warm up to Judi..." Rick recalled. Bit by bit he'd learned more about the mysterious sword master, including the fact that she'd lost a baby before the Turn which had made being around his infant daughter too painful at first. When Rick had made it clear that he and the kids were a package deal, Michonne had pulled back, but then slowly in fits and starts told him a little about her life, before, and then she had worked hard at getting to know both Carl and Judith better, bonding with the boy over the comic books she brought back for him from her runs and spending time with both Rick and the baby. Now that the Governor was defeated, she was sticking a lot closer to home.

"That's another soft cheek that will appreciate a clean close shave." Carol grinned and Rick smiled back.

"Have at it then." Rick said agreeably and Carol reached into her pants pocket and lifted up an old fashioned straight razor, flicking it open and humming the theme from _Sweeney Todd,_ making Rick's eyes go wide. She laughed in delight at her joke and put the blade down on the table, exchanging it for a set of battery powered hair clippers.

* * *

Daryl was gone all day, returning late with a baker's dozen of rabbits he set to butchering out on the same table where he'd watched Rick and Carol that morning. He made quick work of skinning and beheading them, perhaps taking a bit too much pleasure in the task. When he finished, covered in the blood, sweat and grime of the day's unseasonably warm temperatures and his work, he went to the outdoor kitchen, intent on leaving the meat and then grabbing a quick shower.

Rick sat on one of the high stools at the counter of the cooking area, holding his daughter on his knee, chatting with Carol, who was measuring out rice. Several other people were scattered around the outdoor room, but Daryl's attention zeroed in on the fact that the two people he'd come to care for most in this world were there, together, again. Clean shaven, and with his hair trimmed, Rick looked so much younger it was startling, stopping Daryl in his tracks. Rick's handsome features curved into an easy smile when he saw Daryl, but then his brow wrinkled at the hunter's dark scowl.

"Looks like you had a good day." Carol said with that preternatural calm that she'd cultivated her whole life to deal with difficult men.

"Rabbit or squirrel?" Rick asked, nodding at the string of game Daryl still held. "Hard to tell when they're naked like that." He chuckled at his own little joke and Carol grinned.

Daryl's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, a nerve twitching in his left cheek.

_"Der!"_ a small high voice intruded on the silence, drawing all of their eyes to the baby, who was reaching out for the dirty sweaty man standing next to her.

""Her first word...well _shit._" Rick harrumphed, making Carol laugh and Daryl grunt.

"Go get cleaned up and then you can feed her, Uncle _Der_." Carol said, smiling at him, holding out her hands to take the rabbits. He lifted them up over the counter so she could reach them, their hands briefly brushing as she grasped the twine he had run up through their rib cages, throats and out the necks so he could carry them all. Daryl felt that same frisson under the skin arc out at him—how long had it been since he'd _touched _her? Their eyes met and held and he knew she'd felt it too, but he quickly let go of the game and stepped back, his shoulder bumping Rick's in his awkward haste, throwing him off balance.

"Whoa there, brother—" Rick began, reaching out to steady his friend, but went silent at the microexpression of jealous anger he saw pass quickly over Daryl's face.

Daryl regained his footing and without looking either of them in the eye, nodded to both Carol and Rick and turned on his heel, stalking away.

* * *

Carol awoke to the chill of the night air on her back as Daryl raised the covers to join her in bed. After he'd showered he had returned to the mess and taken over Judi's feeding, disappearing to walk with her all around the yard. About a half an hour later Tyreese had appeared, carrying the child, and had told them that Daryl had volunteered to relieve him on watch. Carol had sighed. Tyreese's watch went until midnight.

The mattress dipped and she held on to her side of it so she wouldn't accidentally roll any closer to him, pretending she was asleep. Her back was suddenly warm, heated as she felt him against her, his arms going around her, turning her towards him and then he kissed her, his mouth druggingly desperate. She responded in kind, knowing she should stop him, ask him what this meant, but she had missed him so much, longed for just _this_ for so long that she couldn't pull her lips from his long enough to form the words or even complete the thoughts to make it happen.

Daryl whimpered; the taste and sweet smell of her overwhelmed his senses. He needed her, had to have her, didn't care about any of his carefully thought out reasons to stay away. He pulled her hands to his lower back and hip and felt the shiver of shock go through her when she realized he wasn't wearing anything, that he'd come to their bed _wanting_ this, wanting _her._ Her hands found the silky soft skin over his muscled ass and she groaned as he bucked his hips into hers, already hard, his proud cock digging into her belly. His mouth left hers and he licked his way down her throat, stopping at the collar of her night gown—one of his sleeveless t-shirts.

_"Please..."_ he begged softly, his forehead in the hollow between her neck and shoulder, _"Please don't give up on me."_

Carol felt hot wetness on her collarbone...was he? Was Daryl crying? She raised her hands and brought them up between their bodies, pushing at his chest. Wordlessly he let her create a space between them. She looked over at him, his face stoic, but his blue eyes were wet and deeply sad. He waited for her to order him away, but instead she pulled off the oversize shirt she wore and reached out her right hand, taking his and placing it over her heart.

Daryl lowered his head and took a breath that was half sob and she saw a drop drip off of his nose and then she gathered him close, tasting the salt tears as she kissed him all over his face. He crushed her to him, capturing her lips with his, laying her back on the bed and continuing to kiss her softly, gently as his hands roved over her body, reacquainting themselves with her curves, her angles, reading the places she liked to be touched, the Braille of sex.

His hands cupped both breasts and his mouth moved there to taste and savor, his strong tongue laving and circling each nipple in turn and then pausing as if he was a gourmet contemplating his choice of the sweetest fruits. He looked up at her and smiled that little corner of the mouth hint of a smile as he delicately covered the right bud with his lips, drawing it in, sucking down, closing his eyes in appreciation of its perfection and humming deep in his throat, the vibration making her cry out and hold his head to her, her fingers caught in the shaggy strands of his mane. The soft bristles of his whiskers felt decadent as they scraped against the tender skin of her breast as he suckled there.

Carol felt him run his calloused hands down her sides, dipping in at her waist and flaring back out to clutch at her hips, then he released her nipple and catching her to him, he rolled with her until she was astride him, her knees on either side of his waist. She looked down at him, a slight frown on her face. He stared at her intently and then put his hands under her thighs and dragged her forward, muttering,

_"Grab onto the side of the bed,"_ as he lifted her up, pulling her knees over his broad shoulders so she straddled him, her ass resting on his chest as he supported her with one hand at her back and the other on her abdomen.

_"Daryl?"_ she asked, uncertain, and she felt him shudder when she said his name.

_"Go on—grab on."_ he rasped out the order again, his voice low.

Carol reached out and grabbed onto the metal bunk frame, which she had to stretch to reach, lifting her up and off his chest and positioning her the way he wanted her—_oh god_—she felt his hands move to hold her thighs apart, his mouth, hot and questing, pressing open mouthed kisses over her belly and on down, finding her center with his tongue and using long slow licks to make her lose her mind.

She tried to stay quiet, she really did, but he made it impossible, driving her higher and higher until her high pitched moans and cries of ecstasy echoed off of the walls and she collapsed, limp, releasing her hold on the bed and falling backwards. He caught her, his hands to her back and shifted their positions so that they were facing each other, side by side on the narrow bed.

Almost before she could catch her breath he lifted her right leg over his and she felt just the broad head of his cock nudge in, pressing through to rub over and over against her clit, slick and swollen, triggering another, almost involuntary orgasm. She gasped, her mouth open, shuddering as the waves spread out from her core again, her fingers convulsively gripping his perfect biceps. She felt his arm flex as he drew her leg higher and then paused, shifting his hips' angle, teasing her, poised just at the brink as she trembled.

_"Say my name again."_ he said, in that same insistent rasping, demanding voice, with his forehead against hers, kissing her temple, licking her cheek.

_"Daryl..."_ she responded, _"Oh please, now Daryl! I need you..." _she told him, "_I lo—"_ but he cut her off by simultaneously taking her mouth in a passionate kiss, plunging his busy tongue inside, and thrusting his hips forward, filling her.

After, they drifted off, wrapped around each other, exhausted, but he woke her twice more during the night with soft insistent kisses, taking her again. The second time was slow, easy, languid as they stared into each other's eyes; the third with her on top, something new to both of them, her hands braced on his taut belly, the gentle bounce of her breasts as she moved on him making him crazy until he pulled her closer so he could hold and kiss them, tender pink now with whisker burn, as he thrust up into her.

* * *

In the morning he was gone when she woke. She made her way down to breakfast, expecting to see him there, feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks. The pitying eyes of her friends told her immediately that he had left the prison. Rick stood and came over to her.

"Stores are low—we need more meat to dry for the winter." Rick said, trying to justify Daryl's abrupt departure to go on an unplanned hunt, which he described to her.

_The tracker had come slamming into the mess hall at 6 a.m., dressed in his vest and jacket, his cross bow slung over his shoulder, ordering Beth and the others preparing breakfast to let Carol sleep. He had brusquely told Rick, who was feeding Judith, sitting in her high chair, of his intention to go out into the woods, and grabbed one of the always prepared mess kits._

_"What am I supposed to tell your wife?" Rick asked, stopping Daryl with a firm hand on his forearm. Daryl's steely gaze raked over the other man, a flash of something dangerous there making Rick release him. _

_"I'll always come back." Daryl growled, as if it was a warning and then he was gone._

Carol nodded, looking lost, and Rick pulled her into a hug, trying to comfort her.

* * *

Daryl was gone for a week. When he returned it was with a group of 5 people from Decatur, a man, a woman and three children. By that evening one of the kids was coughing. They'd quarantined the group, but were too late, and it swept through the prison complex. Several of the older frailer Woodbury people had sickened and died and Hershel and Dr. S had been run off their feet caring for them. The Senoia physician, West, who had been a heart surgeon before the turn, had proved more just plain arrogant than evil, and so was also pressed into service.

Carol's nursing ability had been needed in the sick room, which included Daryl, who'd been exposed during the worst part of the girl's contagious phase. He'd been sick and delirious for two days, unconscious for three, and had some seriously weird ass dream, parts of which he still remembered. Only this time it hadn't been Merle who got on his ass, it had been god damned _Martinez..._

Daryl had awoken, with one wrist handcuffed to the bed, to someone washing his face with a cool cloth and had opened his eyes to see the person he most wanted to see, his wife, wearing a surgical style mask, leaning over him. He'd know those crystal blue eyes anywhere. She looked exhausted, pale, pinched, with dark circles under her eyes, but they crinkled up as she smiled when she saw he was awake.

"Oh thank god..._Daryl?_ Can you hear me?" she asked.

"'Course—don' gotta yell." he grumbled, his head throbbing with every syllable. She shook her head at him.

"Is that better?" she whispered and he gave her a grimacing smile. "Good." she murmured, raising her hand to feel his forehead, which she was glad to see was cooler to the touch now. He looked at her hands and a bolt of fear went through him when he realized she wasn't wearing her wedding ring any more.

"Carol...I'm sorry...I'm _such_ an asshole, I didn't understand- I..." he began, but her eyebrows drew together and she raised her hand to her mouth, stopping short of touching the mask.

"You ok?" he asked. She had gone a distinct shade of green. She whirled around, ripped off her mask and grabbed a garbage can. Daryl could hear the distinctive sounds of vomiting. Maggie, also masked, was just coming into the room and rushed to Carol's side to help her sit on the other bed in the room.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked, trying to sit up, but he was still too weak from his ordeal. Maggie glared at him.

"She's sick, Daryl—she's been trying to take care of you and everyone else and she's made herself sick." she looked up outside the door, "Dr. West! Help please—it's Carol!" The officious Senoia doctor, also masked, strode into the room and tsked at the women.

"Why the hell doesn't she have her mask on? I admit these are primitive conditions, but can we not follow even_ basic_ medical protocols around here? I have had a hell of a time keeping that mangy dog out of here when those boys come to check on him," he pointed in Daryl's general direction without looking at him, "I _don't _need this from my nurses!"

"I threw up." Carol said, angry and miserable, "I took off my mask so I could throw up."

Dousing his hands in the antibacterial liquid he carried, West came over and felt Carol's head.

"No fever." he felt the glands under her throat and armpits. "No swelling." he looked in her eyes, "Conjunctiva normal—a bit bloodshot." he held her chin in his hand. "This morning the first time you vomited?" she shook her head yes. He saw her wedding ring on the chain around her neck and grinned. "Couldn't get your ring on today?" Carol touched the ring at her neck. She'd been very upset when she'd noticed her ring finger was red and cold this morning and had barely been able to get the ring off. It had been cutting off the circulation to her finger. She frowned at the doctor.

_"Oh my god."_ Maggie said softly, smiling over at her friend in sudden understanding.

"It's just morning sickness, Mrs. Dixon." West told her, "You're what? Six or seven weeks now?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Carol gaped at him.

"The pregnancy test I gave you that first day—didn't I ever tell you?" he frowned at her. "I was sure I told you—that's one of the reasons I insisted on masks and extra sanitary procedures."

Her eyes huge, Carol looked over at Daryl who had managed to prop himself up on his elbow and the pillows and was now staring intently at the little group gathered on the other side of the room.

"Now get a mask back on or you won't be allowed in here to tend to your man." West admonished and looked over at Daryl, "Who I see is awake...and looking a bit shell shocked." he chuckled, moving to Daryl's bed, forcing his gaze to him. "Glad to see you're back with us, Mr. Dixon. You had us worried. Or should I say 'daddy'?" he grinned, cleaning his hands again. He checked Daryl's temperature, pulse and BP, listened to his lungs and looked in his eyes and ears and then pronounced him out of danger. Taking the handcuff key from around his neck he unlocked Daryl's restraints and gave him a jaunty wink as he left the room.

"Carol?" Daryl said softly, looking back to his wife, hoping the look on her face would be happiness and not despair at the news they'd just been given. Maggie was helping Carol put on a full surgical gown, mask and gloves. As soon as she was protected she came across the room and sat on the side of his bed. He reached up his right hand, finding the small metal circle of her ring under the gown at her neck and looking into her eyes. She took his left hand in both of hers, smiling so big under her mask that her eyes almost squinted shut.

"I love you Daryl." She told him, and then she leveled her stern schoolmarm look at him, adding, and "No more running away, Ok?"

"No more running away." He agreed, no longer a lost boy, wanting only to stay by her side, wherever that path led them. _"Love you, wife."_

That was still one funky ass dream or vision he had, Daryl thought to himself, but the dead man who had guided him had been right about the most important things, Carol still loved him and he was going to be a father.

* * *

_**Carol reads Daryl an excerpt from Chapter 17 of **__**The Adventures of Tom Sawyer**__**, by Mark Twain, from which she also read in the S4 premiere to the prison kids before the knife lesson. Resourceful orphaned and independent children fighting off evil; it sounds like a good tale for the apocalypse story hour. **_

_**I love that in these 1**__**st**__** episodes of the new season they are emphasizing reading and literature so much: the library they have set up, ("Damn fine library. Only thing I miss about that place," as Merle said of Woodbury) the kids all talking about reading, Michonne bringing comics to Carl, Rick telling Carl to read books too, Beth journaling and Carol reading to the kids.**_

_**Daryl giving Andrea crap about the book she brought him in apology for shooting him in S2's **__**Chupacabra**__** ("What, no pictures?") originally made me think it was a tweak on the fact that the show was inspired by a graphic novel, but here I used it as a prompt for Daryl's mild dyslexia, which seemed to fit his character. **_

_**So what do we think, 'Huck Dixon'? I sort of like 'Finn Dixon' too. Let me know what you think Caryl should name their little boy.**_

_**Thanks to all of you who read, favorite, follow and review my stories. The Caryl & TWD fandom is awesome!**_


	39. Chapter 39: Hold on

_**After tonight's Caryless episode, ("Isolation") with its big OMG reveal about Carol, I think we could all use some sweet fluffy & then smut filled Daryl & Carol together time, so here you go:**_

* * *

_**39. Hold on...**_

_"Daryl..."_ Carol said, sounding concerned.

"He's fine."

"One bite and—"

"Won't. Knows better." Daryl returned easily. "Knows I'd kick his ass." He put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned her head against him, as always comforted by his calm presence.

"She does seem to adore him." Carol admitted.

"You'll see—he'll watch over Jude and our lil' Huckleberry like a champ—he's smart."

"We are so _not_ naming our child—" she began but was interrupted by a loud squeal from Judith, who was sitting in Carl's lap, on the floor, holding both hands out to Gus who sat in front of them.

"Ga!" she cried, and the dog tilted his head at her curiously.

They had been slowly introducing the young dog, now almost ten months old and weighing in at 60 pounds, to the younger children in the community, making sure that his easy going temperament and protective nature transferred to people other than Daryl, Carol, Miguel and Carl, with whom he spent the most time. Judi was on the verge of walking and keeping track of her was a full time job in this dangerous world. Having her own personal guardian with a loud bark and sharp teeth seemed like an excellent idea.

They watched as the toddler reached up, her big brother's hand on her back to help support her, and grabbed a hold of Gus' shaggy coat, using him like a ladder to pull her into a standing position. The dog held still, frozen in place, watching the little girl with what looked like one raised tan eyebrow on his black and tan face. When she was finally fully upright, face to face with him, Gus swiped a lick over her cheek, making her giggle in delight. The dog looked up at Daryl, as if asking him what was up with the puppy girl.

"Good dog." Daryl said warmly, and Gus' tail thumped on the floor as it wagged slowly. The tail immediately drew the baby's attention and she went hand over fist grabbing onto his coat at the neck, then his back until she over balanced and flopped back down on her butt next to his tail. Instead of being upset that she'd fallen, Judi focused on trying to grab Gus' still swinging tail. By sheer luck she grabbed onto it, holding on tightly, making Gus startle, and Carol moved to pull her out of harm's way, but Daryl held her still.

Instead of reacting with fear or anger, Gus flopped lazily onto the floor, stretching out as if he hadn't a care in the world, letting the baby pull on his tail to her heart's content.

"He's your dog, all right." Carol said to her husband, sounding relieved.

"He's a real good dog, Aunt Carol." Carl said, reaching out to smooth his hand over Gus' big head. Carol exchanged a surprised look with Daryl.

"Carl?" Carol asked, wondering when he'd decided to start calling her that.

"Is that ok?" the boy said, looking back over his shoulder at them, sounding a bit unsure, "Judi calls you that. I mean, you guys are my family too—like my dad's brother and sister—that'd make you my aunt and uncle, right?"

"That's right, we're family, buddy." Daryl agreed, sounding a little hoarse. Then he cleared his throat and grumbled, "Gettin' _way_ too fluffy in here..."

"You need to go spit and scratch and kill something?" Carol laughed.

"Damn right." Daryl said, chewing on his lower lip.

_"Dam wite!"_ a tiny voice piped up, giggling.

"You know she repeats everything—you have to watch your mouth around her!" Carol elbowed Daryl and Carl laughed.

Swearing came as naturally to Daryl as breathing and having to self edit drove him up the wall. Besides, he figured in this world, everyone needed a full vocabulary of the best cussin' words they could learn. Daryl put his mouth up close to Carol's ear.

"You know how turned on I get when _you_ cuss, don'cha?" he whispered, finding the point of her hip with his right hand and lightly tracing circles over it with his thumb.

_"Damn you..."_ she moaned softly, reaching down and grasping his hand to still it.

"Good start." he chuckled.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" She whispered, and drew his hand over her nine month and four days pregnant belly. Beth's happy laughter interrupted them as she and Miguel came into the mess hall. Gus raised his head to check out the new people, but relaxed it back down with recognition.

"There you are, Chico!' Miguel said to Carl jovially, but Carl scowled at him. The relationships between the three young people were complicated by the fact that although Carl and Miguel had become good friends, when Beth and he had returned from Senoia, Miguel had started spending more and more time with her.

Closer in age than she and Carl, Miguel not only openly admired her prowess with weapons, he also sang and played guitar and they spent much of their free time together, sharing music. For his part, Carl had declared his feelings for her before she had left, but knew he was still too young for her to see him in any serious romantic light. He liked the young vato, but was having a hard time with his jealousy. Using Shane as an object lesson, his father impressed on Carl the importance of valuing the happiness of the person you love more than your own.

"Hey Carl." Beth said, plopping herself down on the floor beside him.

"Hey Beth." Carl smiled.

"What? Am I invisible?" Miguel pouted; sliding to the floor on Beth's other side.

"I wish." Carl muttered and Beth bumped him with her shoulder.

"Be nice." Beth admonished.

"Yeah—I'm backin' your dad up on a run today, be nice to me, _Carlito_!" Miguel said, sounding hurt. They were going on their third trade mission to Senoia, which had started to turn into a place they might consider relocating to sometime in the near future. The settlers there, with the Vatos leader G at the core, had expanded the maze wall around the vet clinic to a six block area, more secure than either Woodbury or the Prison.

"Lo siento, _Miguelito_." Carl said, apologizing, but using the diminutive "ito" on the end of his friend's name in return, reminding him that neither one of them was that old.

"You got this?" Daryl said to the three young people. Beth turned around and smiled up at them. It was still a little odd to her to see Daryl so...well..._domesticated._ He still had an air of danger about him, still dressed the same, (with perhaps less dirt and fewer rips in his clothes), and his hair was still shaggy and somehow...well..._ sexy_, but his demeanor, especially around his pregnant wife, was so gentle and sweet it made her want to cry. They were like characters in the romance novels she used to like to read where the outlaw with a heart of gold is saved by the unexpectantly tough school marm.

"Sure—we'll keep a good eye on them both—you go do...whatever you need to do." Beth told them with a wink. Carol smiled and Daryl sputtered a "_pfft" _at her, but then he took Carol's hand in his, holding on tightly, and led her away with a spring in his step.

"Don't those two ever stop?" Miguel said, rolling his eyes.

"Seriously, I mean isn't she going to have the baby soon? That can't be good fo-" Carl began, but Beth cut him off with a hand to his mouth.

"Not our business." she warned him, dropping her hand.

"Yeah, well, _your_ room is in another cell block." Carl muttered. The lack of privacy usually didn't bother him; he was used to it, especially after the winter they'd spent on the road, but hearing people he _knew_ doing it still weirded him out. It used to be just Maggie and Glenn, but now more and more people were pairing up. He was glad at least his dad and Michonne went to _her_ room in D block. They thought they were being so sly about it, but Carl wasn't stupid. And he was actually happy for them. He liked the sword master and she and his dad made a good pair.

"I wish he was goin' with us." Miguel said, a bit anxiously. Every time they left the relative safety of the prison he worried both about the people he was with and those left behind. That was the problem with caring about people; it meant risking the possibility of getting hurt.

"You know he won't leave her with the baby so close." Beth said, taking his hand in hers.

"You'll have my dad and Michonne." Carl said encouragingly and Beth took his hand as well, silently thanking him for reassuring Miguel. The three of them sat, holding on to each other's hands, watching the big dog and the little girl, wondering, as always before a run, if this was the last time they'd all be together.

* * *

"Daryl, it's the middle of the morning." Carol protested as he led her through the corridors and hallways back to cellblock C. Everyone seemed to be off working on their assigned tasks, clearing the fences of walkers, working in the gardens or on the logs for the new fortifications. The place was deserted.

"S'right—time for your mid mornin' nap." he said evenly.

"I'm not an invalid, _damn it_!" she bit out, pulling him to a stop at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the second level. He swept her off her feet and up into his arms and carried her up the steps.

"Daryl! What the _hell_ are you-!"

"Keep it up, sweetheart." he growled, pausing to kiss her, his mouth moving over hers indolently, as if he had all the time in the world. And then she got it. When his lips left hers she smiled.

"Shit." she said sweetly.

_"Ah honey..."_ he murmured and kissed her again, reaching the upper landing that used to be his perch. He turned and headed for the last cell on the right, their room, his mouth leaving hers so he could concentrate on maneuvering through the doorway and dropping the curtain behind them.

"Fuck." she said softly with a sigh, her ace in the hole in this little game he had begun. It was the worst swear word she ever used, reserved for only the direst situations. He set her down on the bed gently and looked down at her.

"Ok babe." he said with a lop sided grin, removed his buck knife, took his pistol out of the back waistband of his pants and set them both on the nightstand. Stepping back so she could watch, he started unsnapping the black western yoked shirt he'd 'Darylized" by cutting off the sleeves.

"Really?" She blinked up at him.

Daryl continued undoing his shirt. He'd been so careful with her in this last month of her pregnancy, not wanting to hurt either her or the baby, which meant that their sex life had consisted mostly of necking. Except once in the middle of the night he'd felt soft kisses on his abdomen, hands slowly lowering his boxers... He'd thought he was dreaming and had opened his eyes expecting to see her fast asleep, head on the pillow next to his, but instead she was curled around his lower body, her big baby belly bumping against his hip and thigh in time with the rhythmic bob of her head as she used her mouth on him.

_"Sweetheart?"_ _He'd gasped, already close. She didn't stop, but did reach up her left hand to find his and squeezed it tightly. Daryl fisted his other hand in the sheets and let her have her way with him. _

But this time...well, this time he was doing something for_ both_ of them.

"Heard tell it brings on labor." He told her. "I asked the doc—she said it was ok."

She was overdue. Only four days, but it weighed on him. It had been almost 15 years since her first pregnancy, and she wasn't a 21 year old anymore. This time, at 36, she told him she had more morning sickness and definitely tired more easily than she had with Sophia. The baby was big, healthy, and ready to be born; they just had to convince her body of it.

"That's an old wives' tale." Carol said crossly, wrinkling up her brow. "I'm just..." she growled at him and threw a pillow aimed at his head.

Daryl looked perplexed. He'd had about all he could take of these damn hormone shifts. She started tearing up and sniffed, instantly drawing him to her, his undone shirt sliding off one ridiculously broad shoulder as he knelt in front of her.

"What's wrong, baby?" he said softly, contrite.

Carol looked at him—all blue eyed concern—her eyes roving hungrily over his angular face, his tanned toned physique, those arms, the light sprinkling of fur that trailed down his chest to his belly and on down below his belt buckle...the man was sex on a stick.

"You're so perfect and I'm s-so _huge!" _she sobbed. She felt like a big ugly blob. "My feet that I haven't even _seen_ in months_ hurt_ like hell, my back aches and...and I really have to _pee._"

So much for sexy time.

Daryl's mouth curved into a grin that he fought to suppress, turning his head to the side to hide it from her.

"Don't you _dare_ laugh at me Daryl Dixon." she ordered, whacking him on the shoulder with her open hand, the smack sounding loud in the small room.

"C'mere." he said, helping her stand and holding her arm as he led her over to the toilet in the cell. She leaned on him as he gently helped her remove the belt holding her knife in a sheath he'd found for her, then her tights and panties. She leaned on him and he held her up over the bowl as she sighed in relief. The kid had been using her bladder as a punching bag lately.

Daryl realized that _this, _this right here, what he was doing for her now, was what true intimacy was about. She'd taken care of his every physical need when he'd been hurt and sick, and now he was happy to do the same, to care for her.

When she finished he helped her back to the bed and they doused their hands in the doctor's antibiotic liquid, a constant now since the outbreak. Carol lay back on her right side and he kissed her lightly, just a brush of his lips against hers and then he moved to sit near her feet, lifting them onto his lap. He took her left foot in his hands and using his thumbs pressed into the arch of her instep, rolling the pressure points like she'd taught him, making her moan. He continued to rub both feet for her until the little furrow between her brows went away and a smile curved her lips.

"Now what else was it that hurt?" he asked, looking up at her, drowsy from his loving attention to her feet. She shifted her hips a little and put her hand to the small of her back, making a small sound of distress and he grinned. "Oh, that's right." he murmured and pulling his shirt the rest of the way off, slid up the bed to spoon in behind her.

Carol felt his big hands push under her long shirt, spanning her lower back, finding the tight tensed sore muscles there and kneading them like a potter prepares his clay, firm and gentle with just the right amount of pressure to make it pliable, usable. She moaned again at how good it felt to have the tightness released, her small body unused to the extra ten or so pounds of baby and fluid it had been forced to carry at her front for the last several months.

_"Thank you, Pookie."_ she murmured, half asleep, taking a deep cleansing breath. She remembered learning Lamaze with Lori; it seemed so long ago now. Never in her wildest dreams back then did she ever think she'd be using it for her own child, her own child _with Daryl._ Their little miracle.

Daryl's hands skimmed lower, tracing delicate circles lightly over her ass with his sandpaper rough fingertips. Carol shivered, leaning back into his touch and he began the same kneading rub there as he'd used on her feet and back, but this time to decidedly different effect. Instead of a soporific, she was now wide awake and _needy_...her moans became encouraging whimpers as he trailed his fingers down between her legs and pushed up into her. She gasped and reached back to him, finding and rubbing his cock through the front of his dark jeans with one hand, gripping him firmly, a slight twist of her wrist each time she repeated her stroke on his hardening length. The silky slick wetness coating his fingers told him she was ready for him, and her hand working him soon had him as hard as iron, but he was still wearing his damn _pants._

_"Help."_ Daryl said, jerking his hips forward.

_ "Help?"_ Carol moaned, grinding down on his hand at her center.

"Stop—wait—pants!" he groaned desperately, and her hand groped for his button and zipper. He had to release her and move both of his hands to complete the task, barely getting the waist down over his hips before she had a hold on him again, guiding him forward.

"_There_—oh god—there... _there_!" she cried as she felt him press inside her. God, it had been so long since she had felt that. The way her body stretched to accommodate his, the sensation of completeness when he was inside her. His strong arms came around her; one hand spread over her belly like a NBA player palms a ball, the other at her breast, finding and circling her nipple through the fabric of her shirt. Her breasts were swollen, tender, over sensitized, but he applied just the right light touch to make it feel good, pleasure just bordering on pain.

She felt his mouth at her nape, the tickle of his chin whiskers there making her giggle, but then his mouth opened and he closed his teeth over the back of her neck, not a bite, more just holding her in place, and pumped his hips forward in several rapid short hard bumps. Carol cried out his name, a sudden orgasm shaking her, bending her forward, grabbing at his forearms to hold them to her tightly as she panted, trying to catch her breath.

_"Whoa!"_ Daryl said and froze. Her belly had gone hard, spasmed against his hand and then he felt a hot gush of fluid. He withdrew from her as quickly as he could; looking down at the sheets, relieved when there was no tint of red in the wet spot underneath them.

"Carol_? Darlin'?"_ he asked, worried that she was in pain. He sat up and helped her shift higher on the bed, put the other pillow under her back to support her and held her hands.

"Water broke..." she said, gasping. _"Contraction... I think..."_ and then she grimaced, her belly going hard again.

"Breathe, Carol." he said, working to calm them both—if this was another contraction it had come too quickly after the first...unless... "How long have you been in labor?" he asked her.

"I thought they were Braxton Hicks." she said frowning at him. "I had them a lot with Sophia." she defended herself, looking like she was about to cry.

"How _long_, Carol?" he said, fighting panic. "Do I have time to go get a doctor?"

"I don't know," she said apologetically. "I've been having little ones since last night."

_"Since last night?" _he said incredulously, his voice rising in pitch.

"I had Dr. S check me after dinner and I wasn't dilated. That's why I thought they were false labor." she pouted.

"Well, s'real _now_." he said, pursing his lips at her, his brows about to climb up and off of his forehead.

"Damn you and your damn sexy poncho!" she said. He just stared at her, flummoxed. "This is your fault! Oh _shit!"_ she cried, holding her abdomen, doubling over in pain.

"I'm getting Yvonne." Daryl jumped up off the bed, pulling up his pants and fastening them quickly.

"Don't leave me!" she whimpered, reaching out her hand to him. He swiftly knelt by the bed and took her hand in his.

"Honey, I have to get help—either I take you to her or I go get her—which is it?"

"Put your shirt on." she ordered and he blinked at her, not sure what _that_ had to do with the choices he'd just given her. "You don't need to be givin' all the other women a free show." she said possessively.

He shook his head at her, but found his shirt on the floor where he'd tossed it and pulled on his boots as well. He gave her a quick kiss, lingering a bit longer when her arms came around his neck until another contraction made her gasp. He grabbed his knife off the stand—he never went anywhere without a weapon these days—and moved to the door.

"Lock me in." she ordered as he left the cage, "In case..." and he nodded, understanding. If something happened and he couldn't get back to her, or if the baby...he didn't want to even finish the thought. He pulled the cage door tight, clicking it shut. She took his pistol and her knife off of the nightstand and held them in tightly in her hands.

"I'll be right back—you tell that lil 'guy to hold his horses."

_"Daryl?"_ she said, sounding frightened, "You need to know—"

"I _know."_ he said, and _winked_ at her and then turned, running down the stairs. Carol was so surprised she laughed—when had_ that_ man ever winked at anyone? She looked down at her abdomen.

"You heard your daddy, lil'guy..._hold on..."_

* * *

_**My research into it showed that late term sex doesn't harm anything when both partners are healthy and willing, but hasn't been statistically shown to induce labor. Carol was already in labor when they got frisky here.**_

_**I was a little weirded out that tonight's episode had CD listening in the car & Daryl trying to back out of a giant herd just like the first chapter of this story written in late August! Maybe I had a little ESP going with the TWD writers' room, LOL! If I did I wish it went the other way too!**_

_**Thanks for reading, favoriting, following and reviewing. You keep me going; )**_


	40. Chapter 40: Wisdom begins

_**40. Wisdom begins…**_

_**Still reeling from "Isolation," so this is pretty much Pure Fluff**_**. **_**Enjoy.**_

* * *

"_**Wisdom begins in wonder."**_** -Socrates**

"Andrew _Wisdom_ Dixon?" Rick asked, looking at the angry red faced squalling child in the doctor's arms as she finished weighing and measuring and doing whatever else it was doctors did to check the health of a newborn.

"And he seems to have inherited his _daddy's_, not his momma's, temperament." Dr. Stevens nodded with a smirk, attempting to placate the baby by bouncing him gently. Rick and Hershel chuckled knowingly.

"Whatta ya doin' to our kid over there, Doc?" Daryl said from his place sitting on a chair next to the infirmary bed where Carol rested, both of the newborn's parents looking anxiously over at the woman who had helped finish delivering him.

"Is he alright, Yvonne?" Carol asked, making Daryl give her hand a quick reassuring squeeze. The doctor loosely wrapped the little boy up and carried him back over to his parents.

"Six pounds, ten ounces; got all his fingers and toes, scores well on the Apgar, good set of lungs—he's fine." She reassured them, handing him to Carol, who pulled the baby blanket open to look him over.

"Thank god." Carol said. When he had come so quickly, before Daryl had returned with the doctor, she had been terrified that meant something was wrong. She had tried not to push, tried to hold on, but young Master Dixon was as impatient as every Dixon man before him to just get all of the pussy footing around out of the way and had made his entrance into the world unceremoniously, with his mother the only witness. Daryl had heard her screams from the corridor and almost broke his neck taking the stairs three at a time, yelling her name, fumbling at his belt for the keys. Stevens and Rick followed close behind; with Hershel bringing up the rear.

Carol had been sitting up in the bed, holding her knife in one hand, staring wide eyed down at the baby, still covered in the birth fluids, lying on the bed between her upraised legs. She reached her hand down, touching his head and he burst to life, his arms and legs moving, taking his first breath which he then released as a loud wail. Carol smiled in relief and dropped the knife, then heard the clatter of keys as Daryl opened the door, swinging it wide and meeting her eyes.

"Carol?"

"I tried to wait—your son had different plans…" she told him tearfully.

"Outa the way, Dixon." Stevens ordered, pushing against his back, propelling him forward. He went and knelt at his wife's side, taking her hand as the doctor began working to finish the delivery, opening her bag and pulling out a pair of hemostat clamps, rubbing alcohol, a scalpel and pulling on gloves.

_"You ok?"_ the doctor and Daryl asked the new mother at the same time, making her laugh ruefully and reassure them that she was doing as well as any woman who just delivered could be.

"All right Mr. Dixon, get ready to take your son." Stevens said, placing the hemostats, cutting the cord and dousing it in the alcohol. She wiped off the baby's face, neck and shoulders, wrapped him in a clean towel and then handed him up to Daryl who looked down at the child in awe and then quickly laid him in Carol's waiting arms. The baby screwed up his little face and cried loudly, looking so much like Daryl when he was upset that it made Carol laugh through her own tears. She looked over at her husband's face, inches from her own and she shook her head at him wonderingly.

"Oh my god...Daryl...we _made_ this..." Carol whispered, "This little thing—he's so _alive!"_ They'd all seen so much death in their world now ... bringing life back into it seemed like an amazing act of will.

Daryl saw her intense joy, saw the look on her face he wished he had been able to give her by finding her daughter, and he was more thankful than he could say to have given her the chance to have this again, to be a mother, to raise a child. He kissed her temple and then leaned in, his head touching hers as they looked down at their son and she leaned back against him, taking comfort in his mere presence.

"Yvonne?" Rick said quietly from outside and to the side of the doorway, "What do you need?"

"I'd like to get them to the infirmary as soon as possible—is Hershel here?"

"Right here." The older man answered, "I'll get Maggie and Beth on it—we'll be ready when you get there, come on, son." He said to Rick.

"Congratulations Carol, Daryl…" Rick said in parting, a hint of pain in the relief they heard in his voice that she had safely delivered the child, that the circumstances of _this_ birth had made that possible when it hadn't been for Lori.

* * *

A half an hour later Carol and Daryl were waiting on Yvonne's report while it seemed half the prison population hovered outside the infirmary doors, anxious for news about the birth of a child to two of their favorite people. Their rescue of Glenn, Carol's capture and Daryl's killing of Blake had made them folk heroes of a sort and happy news for them was all that the entire place needed to start a celebration. Glenn and Carl, carrying Judith, were admitted, and then the survivors of the original Atlanta group and the farm were all together in the room, along with Michonne. They kept to the far side of the room, unwilling to expose the new born to too many germs, and had all washed up and changed into clean clothes before they came in.

When Beth had asked the baby's name to place in the records she was keeping of their lives there, it had been Michonne who had teared up at the first, the masculine form of Andrea, chosen to honor her. Hershel, who had taken Greek and Latin at University, had been consulted on their choice of the middle one.

"Wisdom…" the old vet had nodded with a sad smile. When Rick raised a brow, shaking his head, not understanding, Hershel had explained. "In Greek the word _'sophia'_ means wisdom. Rick looked over at Carol, smiling down at the baby, who continued to cry lustily, his face scrunched up in fury at the too bright, too loud, too cold world he'd been forced out into.

"Man, he looks just like you, Daryl." Glenn said, "Never saw a baby that looked so _surly_ before," earning him a smack to the back of his head from his wife, a glare from Daryl and chuckles from everyone else.

"He's beautiful." Maggie said, with tears in her eyes, and Glenn pulled her into a comforting side arm hug, kissing the top of her head. They'd been trying again, but so far without success.

"So it's Andy?" Rick asked Daryl with a grin, "Not _Huck_?"

"Drew." Carol said, looking at Daryl and smiling. "Drew Dixon."

"Has a nice ring." Hershel said, nodding approvingly. Carol held the baby out to Daryl, who carefully lifted him and cradled him to his hospital gown covered chest.

"What's yer problem now, son? Havin' a bad day?" he said gently, and the baby slowly quieted, his sobs devolving into hiccups and sniffs as he focused his big blue eyes in the direction of Daryl's face. "That's right—ain't nothin' wrong with a lil' self-expression, but ya gotta learn some self-control 'round here." Baby Drew calmed at the soothing sound of the voice he had heard for the last several months when Daryl, feeling silly but doing it none-the-less, had laid down by Carol's side and talked to his son every night when they turned in.

"The baby whisperer strikes again." Beth said, and all those who had been present when Daryl had fed Judith for the first time and those who had heard the story smiled in remembrance of how the tracker had been able to soothe the little girl and get her to take the bottle.

"Judith had more hair." Carl piped up, "Look at that baby's big bald head!" Daryl looked down at his child and frowned.

"Now don't you worry, Drew," Rick said to the child. "Dixon men grow fine heads a' hair—scraggly_ beards_ maybe—but look at your father's mane." Daryl flashed his friend a sour look, jutting his chin out.

"Least I still got _mine_—didn't go shavin' it off fer—" and then he stopped, slanting a look over at Michonne who was regarding him curiously, waiting to see if he was going to finish his statement.

"His beard isn't scraggly; I love its soft bristles against my…cheeks…." Carol said wistfully into the pause in conversation, making Michonne laugh out loud at the double entendre and Daryl looked over at her and rolled his eyes, while the rest of the room variously chuckled or snorted.

"Still time to give Mr. Andrew Wisdom there a brother or sister," Yvonne said, grinning. Daryl and Carol exchanged a look so hot and then a smile so warm, remembering what they'd been doing that precipitated the blessed event, that several people in the room blushed just watching them.

"I think it's time we gave this little family some time on their own," Hershel announced.

_"Be-be!"_ Judith piped up, staring over at Daryl and Carol. She made a grasping gesture with her hands, opening and closing them, thinking perhaps that Daryl was holding a doll that she could play with and she _wanted _it.

"No sweetheart, _my_ be-be." Daryl said to the little girl, gently but firmly, establishing her place and his ownership of the baby. Judith looked shocked and her lower lip quivered and her breath hitched.

"NO! _Me_ Unka Der be-be!" Judith wailed and she cried big fat tears, reaching for Daryl.

"Oh holy _crap_." Carl said as his sister struggled in his grip.

"She don't make no bones about who her favorite redneck is, does she?" Michonne drawled.

"Someone is going to have to learn to share." Maggie tsked.

"Here Daryl," Carol said, reaching for the baby. Daryl handed him over and then stood, walking across the room to Carl, who handed Judi off to him.

She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest, sobbing dramatically, as only a year and a half old used to the unwavering attention of every adult that crossed her path could do.

_"Judith!"_ Rick said, embarrassed.

"Honey?" Daryl said quietly, and the little round face with bright pink cheeks and big eyes peeked up at him, her breath coming in jumpy little hitches. "Yer my girl, but baby Drew there—he's my _boy_, ok?" he explained.

"Daryl, I don't think that'll…" Glenn began, but Maggie shushed him.

"Hush now, Baby Whisperer at work." She told him quietly as they all watched him reasoning with the child.

"Me Unka Der be-be _ger_." Judith pouted.

"Thas right—yer my girl, and Aunt Carol and me, we have our own little _boy_ now too, see?" he shifted her higher in his grip so she could put her hand on his shoulder and look down at the occupants of the bed.

"Unka Der be-be _ba_?" Judith was now looking curiously over at the bundle Carol held.

"Uh huh. He's brand new, just came today, ain't he nice?" Judith looked back up at Daryl, a very serious expression on her face. She reached one small hand up and touched his cheek.

"Unka Der?" she asked. Daryl nodded. She looked down at Drew, wrinkling her nose. "Be-be _ba_?"

"_Drew._ An' I love him just like yer daddy loves Carl _and_ you." Daryl told her. Judith swiveled her head around to look at her father and brother, who both nodded at her. She looked back at the baby.

_"Dew."_ She said, popped her thumb in her mouth and then leaned her head back against Daryl's neck as she stared at the small boy Carol held.

"Baby Logic." Glenn said, with an amused chuckle and everyone breathed a sigh of relief that a full blown tantrum had been avoided. Teaching small children importance of silence was one of the hardest tasks of parents in this new age.

"And on that note, I'm kickin' you all out." said Dr. Stevens. "Visiting hours are over. I already let more of you all in here than I should, but the new parents said you were _all_ family."

After that statement there wasn't a dry eye in the room.

Wishing them another round of congratulations everyone quietly made their way from the infirmary, pushing the people in the hall away as well, until just Rick, Carl and Judith remained. Daryl handed the drowsy little girl over to her father who draped her over his shoulder, lightly rubbing her back.

"You've got a fine son there, Daryl, Carol." Rick said warmly.

"Thank you Rick, for everything you've done for us." Carol said, knowing that this must be hard for Rick, never having been able to share his joy over Judith's birth with his wife.

"I'm just glad you're both ok, Carol." Rick smiled.

"I'll walk you out." Daryl said, "Be right back, sweetheart." He said, placing a kiss on both his wife and son's heads.

"I'll watch Gus tonight, Uncle Daryl." Carl said, and Rick raised an eyebrow at the new title, but then smiled and put his free arm around his son's shoulders with pride.

"We'd appreciate that, Carl." Daryl said, nodding.

In the hallway Daryl and Rick paused so that Carl could take the now sleeping Judith back to their room while the men lingered to talk.

"Everything set for the run tomorrow?" Daryl asked, keeping his voice low. Rick nodded.

"They're expecting us; can't delay it or they'll worry. The CB is hit and miss at this distance."

"Need to find a ham radio set up somewhere. Get us some real two way comms goin' again." Daryl said. Walkie talkies seemed to have been one of the first things looted and were hard to come by. They had the two from Blake's compound which had proved very useful to use between vehicles or people on foot during runs, but could use about 20 more. Plus the things had a limited range.

"And someone who knows how to set it up."

"More new ones comin' in everyday—to Senoia too." Daryl reminded him and Rick nodded. Leaning against the opposite wall in the corridor Rick looked at the floor and then back up at Daryl.

"Daryl, I need to ask you something—and I want you to talk it over with Carol before you give me an answer." Rick said. Seeing Judith and Carl's interactions with the couple tonight had cemented his resolve to make his request more formally.

"Sure—what's up?" Daryl asked, leaning back against the wall.

"I'd like to make you Carl and Judith's legal guardians—well, as legal as things can get these days—if…if anything happens to me, I want you to raise them." Rick said.

There was a long pause while Daryl fought the urge to ask his friend if he'd lost his fucking mind; his Dixon sense of unworthiness hitting him in the gut with a force he hadn't felt in a long time… shit man, _raise his kids_? But hell if he didn't have his _own_ to raise now too. Fuck. The hairs on the back of his neck went up as he swore he heard Merle's cackling laugh…

Rick waited him out, watching the emotions play across Daryl's face. The tracker raised his right hand and ran it under the long dark hair at his nape, rubbing it as he squinted over at Rick.

"Why not Michonne?" he had to ask.

"You know as well as I do she's more likely to be in the thick of it fighting along 'side me than hanging around here keeping the home fires burning. I think with your new responsibilities, you're going to be stickin' closer to..." and Rick nodded towards the door behind Daryl, who stood stock still, his head down. You could almost see the wheels turning in his brain, and then he finally nodded once, sharply and looked up at Rick.

"I'm pretty sure I know what her answer'll be—she loves those kids as much as I do—but yeah, I'll ask Carol…" Daryl finally agreed and then he tilted his head, his face cracked into a wide grin, his left eye squinting over at Rick. "Did ya ever, in your wildest imaginin' on the day we met, did ya ever think you'd be askin'_ me_ this?"

"When you were tossin' squirrels and pulling that mother of a knife on me? _Hell_ no." Rick chuckled. Rick took two steps forward and held out his right hand. Daryl took it and surprised them both by using it to pull the other man into a hug.

* * *

_**Apgar: Appearance, Pulse, Grimace, Activity, and Respiration. Standard test given to all newborns.**_

_**So ok, I went with neither Huck nor Finn. The name Andrew Wisdom came to me in a flash of inspiration as I was re-watching some of my favorite Caryl moments of S 2 & 3, honoring the parts that Andrea & Sophia played in their lives and also thinking of Andy & Norman's little "bromance." I also liked the alliteration of 'Drew Dixon.'**_

_**Read, favorite, follow, and review—you're all so good to me! Thanks;D**_


	41. Chapter 41: Epilogue

_41. Epilogue_

"Watching your pets again, Paschar?"

"They're not pets, they're people." The angel who wore the guise of a young woman said chidingly.

"Why this particular pair in this particular universe then? What makes them different from all the others we see? Was it the boy? Glenn? He's the one that drew your attention to them wasn't he?"

_"How many times they tried..."_ she said softly, watching as the crouching man with the tattered wings on the back of his leather vest held his arms out to the small boy with dark curly hair and big blue eyes as he took his first steps, his mother putting her hand to her mouth as he teetered away from her.

"What?"

"It's how many times they tried to be together..." she said more distinctly. "How many times their fates almost intertwined, how they tried and failed or were kept apart by others actions or inactions..." She waved her hand over the pool of water in the basin of the elaborate Victorian fountain and the scene changed,

_Daryl drove his old pickup to the top of the quarry camp, the bodies of the dead killed in the walker attack in its bed. Ed Peletier approached, his shy daughter walking behind him._

_ "Well, ya better get it before they put her in the ground." he said harshly to the little girl. Daryl squinted at the blowhard of a man, his face still bruised from the beat down he'd been given the day before by the deputy. After Dale had treated his wounds, Ed had been locked in the Winnebago to keep him away from his wife and child when the walker attack had happened. Carol had been killed when she'd tried to bring Sophia into the safety of the RV. Ed had refused to open the door and Carol had sheltered her daughter from the walkers by pressing her against the camper and covering the girl with her own body. She'd been bitten several times and must've been in agony, but Carol had refused to abandon Sophia._

_ "Whatta you need, sweetheart?" Daryl said to the little girl, his voice softer and gentler than anyone in camp had ever heard it before._

_ "My...my mom wore a necklace...a little gold cross..." Sophia said, her reddened eyes looking shyly up into his. "She always wears it." Daryl winced. No way was he letting this little girl look inside the blanket shrouding what was left of her mother. _

_ "I'll check, honey—you go stand over there." he said, gesturing over to the tree line about 10 feet distant. Grumbling, Peletier and the girl retreated, watching the tracker as he found the pink blanket that held Carol Peletier. His back to them, blocking their view he opened the cloth and saw the serene face of the mousey woman who'd been like a lioness as she defended her baby, fighting to the death. Though he'd used a pick axe on the rest of the dead to keep them from turning, he'd silently and quickly slid his knife in at the base of her skull instead, preserving her perfect features. She'd been beautiful and he'd never even noticed...so caught up had he been in trying to keep Merle sober and find game in the surrounding woods to feed the hungry group. He ran his dirty hand down her cheek and jaw, his heart oddly heavy. Shaking his head to clear it, berating himself as a fucking fool, he moved his hand to her neck, searching for the necklace. A delicate gold chain caught on his rough skinned fingers and he turned it until he had the clasp, almost too small for him to work it. He lifted the cross, his knuckles brushing against her soft skin one last time, and then drew the blanket over her face._

_ "Sophie?" he said, holding up the necklace and turning towards the girl, who started back towards him, smiling through tears to see he had found it, but she was stopped by her father's hand coming down hard on her shoulder._

_ "Slow down there, girl. Redneck scumbag can just bring my property on over here."_

_ "You lousy son of a bitch!" Daryl yelled, stalking over to Ed, "You good as killed that good woman," he pointed back to his truck, "bein' too yellow to come outa the RV and help defend this fuckin' camp!" Sophia cowered back at the show of rage from Daryl and it brought both Shane and Rick immediately to his side from where they'd been working with Jim to finish the graves he'd dug the day before._

_ "Daryl, we got a problem here?" Rick asked, striving for calm. It had been a horrible night and tempers were still on edge. Daryl had been a big help in getting Glenn back from the Vatos, but he was still mostly an unknown quantity._

_ "Asshole stole my wife's necklace offa her body." Ed said, smirking at Daryl and pointing at the necklace that the other man still held, releasing his hold on Sophia to gloat._

_ "You lying piece of shit!" Daryl yelled, pointing his finger at Peletier. Shane moved to restrain Daryl, but Sophia jumped in front of him, protecting the tracker._

_ "He didn't!" Sophia screamed, stopping them all in their tracks to stare at her in amazement. Lori and Carl came into the clearing and ran over when they heard the young girl's distress._

_ "Sophia, honey!" Lori said, rushing to take the girl in her arms, but Sophia resisted, backing up to Daryl instead. Daryl chewed his lip, wincing uncomfortably as she took a hold of his hand._

_ "I asked him to get my mom's cross for me and he did...I wanted it to remember her by." she looked up at Daryl and smiled shyly. "Thank you Mr. Daryl." Daryl looked into her eyes and nodded, handing her the necklace._

_ "Sophia Peletier, get yer ass over here right now!" Ed bellowed, but the girl, though shaking, shook her head no._

_ "I don't think she needs to go with you, Ed." Rick said, exchanging looks with Lori and Shane and then he looked pointedly at Daryl, who nodded in agreement as well. _

_ "She's my daughter—ain't none a your concern, you ain't the law here—ain't no law no more!" Ed said indignantly, trying to push past Lori, almost knocking her down to get to Sophia, who held on tight to Daryl's hand and melted into his side. As Carl cried out, "Mom!" a pair of loud clicks on either side of his head arrested Ed's forward momentum. Both Shane and Rick had drawn on the man, the big Colt Python and the pump action Remington pointed at his head._

_ "Daryl, would you be so kind as to escort Sophia, my wife and my son back to the RV while Shane and I have a little chat with Mr. Peletier about the state of law enforcement here in Georgia?" Rick said, his voice a menacing purr._

_ "Happy to oblige, officer." Daryl drawled, taking Sophia's hand and drawing it up to the crook of his elbow. He looked over at Lori and nodded his head towards camp, "Ma'm?" she gave him a frowning smile, not sure what to make of him, furious one minute and courteous the next, but fell in beside him, holding Carl's hand, as they walked back down the hill. _

_ "I think that child just got herself a guardian angel." Jim said, leaning on his shovel, starting on a new grave._

Paschar sighed.

"So much potential—one little decision changes everything." her companion said.

"Sometimes he dies before they even meet—or they meet as young people and date but have a falling out, or they make it all the way to the farm and save Sophia, but all die when the herd hits without warning..."

"And in some she ends up with Rick and in some _Daryl _does." and then he waggled his eyebrows at her, "And in a couple of real twisty ones all _three_ of them are together... What's your point?"

"In this one, this _one_ universe, they will be happy, I have your promise." Paschar said firmly.

"And what's your definition of happy?" the handsome Angel of Death asked. "They're still in the middle of a worldwide epidemic that made the dead walk—it makes the Bubonic Plague look like child's play, and_ that_ was some of the Horsemen's best work."

"I'm not saying someone has to come up with a cure, although that would be nice...weren't the French working on something?" she wheedled, but he made a gesture of dismissal. "All right then—they're together, they have a child—they should both be there to raise him and teach him how to survive in this world..."

This time it was Azrael who waved his hand over the waters.

_"Andrew Wisdom Dixon, get your sorry ass out here!"_ _Carol's stern voice echoed down the cellblock. 13 year old Drew Dixon stuck his head out of the third cell down, his tousled dark curls, turned up nose, crystal blue eyes, pointed chin and high cheek bones the perfect blending of his parents features. He was almost the same age as Carl had been when they'd come to this place; and now they were finally preparing to leave it._

_ "Now whatta ya want, ma?" the boy yelled back, highly put upon, and a girlish laugh came from behind him, amused at his bellowing insolence._

_ "Judith Grimes, you get your fancy little butt out here too!" at 14 going on 15 Judith was the spitting image of her mother, lanky, sloe eyed with long dark hair, just on the cusp of womanhood. She and Drew had grown up together like brother and sister, even closer after the death of her father when she'd been ten and Carol and Daryl had taken both she and Carl in, just as Rick had wished. Losing Rick had been a blow to the whole community, coming not from a walker attack, but in a stupid accident, falling while working to repair a leaky roof high up on the prison's far side. Daryl had taken it especially hard—the men had been as close as brothers—but he'd rose to the occasion, becoming the leader that the community needed._

_At 44 Daryl looked much the same as he always had, a bit more grey in his beard and hair—not quite ready to give Hershel a run for his money, but getting there. He was still vital, his sinewy muscular fitness intact, but he had a more settled, contented look to him than he'd had in the early days at the prison. He smiled more, laughed more and exuded an easy confidence that put people at ease, unless someone crossed him or was perceived as a threat. The dangerous Dixon was still there, the big dog ready to get in your face, literally butt heads if the situation called for it, but better held in check, the hair trigger tempered now by his calm and steady wife. _

_Carol had kept her short hairstyle, but now dressed a bit more steam punk meets hippie chick, with her buckled Doc Martens and her still slender figure hugged by comfortable pants under colorful interesting blouses and leather vests. She looked pretty, but formidable, the thigh strapped pistol, katana at her back and smaller version of Daryl's buck knife at her waist showed she was always prepared to defend herself and her extended family._

_The teenagers groaned but came out of the cell, masks of surly innocence slapped on their young faces._

_ "What?" Drew asked._

_ "I am told by reputable sources that you two were seen up in the south tower __kissing__." Carol said, her arms crossed in front of her. The two young people blushed and looked at the floor, the walls, anywhere but at Carol or each other. "Is that true?"_

_ "It's not like he's __really__ my brother..." Jude mumbled, pouting."That would be gross." _

_Her "real" brother, Carl, at 26, was a handsome, quiet young man, and he and Beth were progressing towards a real relationship at long last. Eight years ago, she and Miguel had been together for four years and had just had a baby daughter, when he had given his life to save his best friend, Carl, and the rest of the scavenging crew from a herd. His last words to Carl were, "Take care of our girls," and then he had stood his ground, covering Carl and the others so they could make it to the vehicles. As he was overrun, Daryl's sure bolt to his head ended his suffering. _

_ "Drew, what do you have to say for yourself?" Carol asked her son. Drew cocked his head and squinted at her, so much like Daryl that Carol had to suppress her grin._

_ "We was on watch so we shouldn't've been screwin' around?" he ventured. Judith frowned at him. Tall for his age and well formed, smart mouthed Drew Dixon was just about the cutest thing she'd ever seen and she'd had a crush on him for as long as she could remember. She'd finally got up the nerve to lean over and plant one on him in the tower yesterday and after his initial shock had worn off he'd decided kissing wasn't half bad. Just their luck that some busy body had told on them._

_ "Exactly." Carol said, nodding. "When you are on watch your attention needs to be focused on what you are doing—especially now—you know we're packing up to leave here because Negan and his crew are on their way. It's vital that we keep an eye out for his spies or raiders," she came closer and tousled her son's hair, which he tried to duck. "And I guess it's about time you and your father had a little talk..."she said pensively, wishing he could remain her little boy a bit longer. Sex was the last little bit of innocence kids retained growing up in this world. Drew knew the mechanics of it from working with the animals, but the feelings and the preventative measures, well; it was high time Daryl dealt with that. _

_ "You can go find him—go on." Carol said, and the boy grinned at her and took off at a run, whistling for his dog, Ass Kicker, one of Gus's offspring, abandoning Judith. Carol turned to the girl who'd become like a daughter to her. Judith swallowed hard but met Carol's eyes defiantly._

_ "I love him, Aunt Carol." Jude said firmly, her lower lip quivering._

_ "I know honey." Carol said, smiling, "Dixon men are mighty hard to resist." she held out her arms and the girl rushed into them._

_ "You're not mad at me?" Judith asked as Carol hugged her._

_ "That you let him distract you from watch—that worries me, but no, I'm not mad at you for kissing him." she smiled wistfully, "Everyone's first kiss should be from someone who loves them."_

_ "What was yours like? With Uncle Daryl?" Judith asked, making Carol chuckle in remembrance._

_ "Well, we were out on a run to Senoia to save your Uncle Glenn, got in a car accident when we hit a giant herd; I had a concussion and had just thrown up..."_

_ "What?" Judith said, "Yuck! That doesn't sound very romantic..." and she pursed her lips and grimaced. In her well worn romance novels the hero always swept the women he loved into his arms in some exotic setting in the midst of danger...and while Uncle Daryl was definitely the hero type, stupid old Senoia, where they were moving to, was hardly exotic._

_ "It was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me." Carol said dreamily._

Paschar smiled as she watched. Her observations of the lives and trials of these people were endlessly fascinating to her. The connections and interrelationships, the myriad possibilities of the ways their lives could progress or fail—if she had to put a word to it—well, it would be _entertaining_.

"Have you seen enough?" another masculine voice brought her out of her reverie.

"Sir." Azrael bowed as the Supreme Being walked past him.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Bob asked the dark winged angel archly.

"Always." Azrael sighed and with a surreptitious wave at his friend, he vanished.

"Dude gets around more than the Dead." Bob punned, but at Paschar's confused look, added, "_The Grateful Dead_—American Rock band—toured a lot—oh screw it, it's not funny if I have to explain it." he splashed his hand in the fountain's waters and they turned red; raising a handful he let it drip back out of his hand like bloody tear drops. "Like this? Used it back in Egypt on a pharaoh to help my main man Moses."

"Yes sir, I remember."

"You can't call Azrael off them forever, my dear." Bob said patiently. "Everything dies." he touched the water again and it turned clear, showing a wedding in a decorated hall.

_"Well, better late than never." Daryl said to Carol dryly as he watched the very pregnant Judith walk down the aisle to meet her groom, their son. _

_ "He's twenty, Daryl—I'm amazed they made it this long." Carol said._

_ "Don't know why they needed all this..." he waved his hand around and she captured it, pulling it to her lap and holding it still with hers. His fingers found their way between her knees, inching up her skirt and she dug her nails into his wrist._

_ "Behave." she hissed._

_ "Remember our wedding?" He whispered, leaning close, their heads touching. She smiled and nodded. "All I needed was you." he told her and kissed her. "Still do."_

_ "No one knows what comes after this life, so I can't promise I'll love you forever, but I'll love you the rest of my life." Drew said from the front of the room, part of their self written vows. "I will understand when you need me to hold on, and when is the time for letting go."_

Paschar turned to Bob.

"That sound about right to you?" she asked him, and he frowned at her, then he smiled a rueful little smile and nodded.

"All right, little one. You win. Just this once. They get a long happy life."

* * *

_**Yeah, I killed Rick & had Carol raise his kids. Writing this right after watching S4 "Indifference" & I'm pissed at him, LOL!**_

_**That's it, folks! Thanks so much for sticking with me through all of this. I have enjoyed getting to know you readers and reviewers so much and hope you'll continue to enjoy my little (& not so little) stories here. I'll be adding to my new chapter story "Bittersweet," which I hope you take a look at if you haven't already.**_

_**And some fun news, the wonderful BLuIcy delivered some gifts from me to Melissa & Norman at Walker Stalker Con in Atlanta! It was so special to be able to give them something back for all of the hours of enjoyment I have gotten from TWD and for being the inspiration for my stories! So if you see any pictures of Mel sporting a pair of turquoise & silver angel wing earrings (like Daryl's vest of course!) I made those or of Norman wearing a tie tack that says "Art" in script—send me a link; )**_


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